


my heart could be yours, won't you make it your home

by pmcculers



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Vigilante AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmcculers/pseuds/pmcculers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>angie meets peggy in the bar she works at and feels immediately drawn to her;</p><p>however, her painful, troubled, unresolved past comes back and she has to deal with it - where will that leave them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i was alone when i burned my home, and all of the pieces were torn and thrown

**Author's Note:**

> let's say vigilante AU (but not quite) - very, very AU.  
> for some reason i like to put my favorite characters through pain so this happened.
> 
> for extra pain, the whole time i wrote this i was listening to Banks' Under The Table.
> 
> come talk to me @ paigemcculers on tumblr or @pmcculers on twitter :)

The heavy, musky air, the dimmed lights and the loud noise would clue anyone who walks into the bar to the fact that it’s a packed night. The pool tables, on the mezzanine on top of the entrance, are all being used, little tournaments happening within the usual crowd. Most of the round and square tables on the main floor are occupied, as well as the couches on the more secluded area by the right wall.

It’s nothing unusual for a Friday night. The L&L _is_ the less shady bar in East Harlem beyond 116 th street, even if its crowd is not.

The stools in front of the counter, across from the entrance at the back of the bar, are mostly unoccupied, except for the usual rotation of people who stop for a drink after work before going home.

And, of course, _her_.

She’s new here. You’ve basically lived at this bar for about four years now and you’re sure you’ve never seen her before. No doubt you’d remember someone who so painfully looked like they didn’t belong in this place. Fancy suit, fancy accent and fancy-ass drink that you had to quickly google to find out what it was made of. Because you’re a professional after all.

But mostly because she smiled at you while ordering, a deep dimple popping on her right cheek and your heart clenched in that way girls have been making it clench since you were fourteen – also you’d hate to let a gorgeous girl down on something as simple as a goddamn drink.

Dottie and Carol walk up to the counter, giggling and pushing each other, and grab the full trays you push into their hands over the counter. Dottie’s sporting a huge grin, certainly having already chosen who she’s taking home after the bar closes. You shake your head fondly at her and walk to the end of the bar where the gorgeous, fancy woman’s been nursing her drink for over thirty minutes, constantly checking her watch. The scowl in her face deepening as each minute goes by.

She is furiously typing on her phone when you reach her and you lean against the counter towards her, speaking loudly over the sound of the music blaring through the speakers and the loud buzzing of people’s conversations to get her attention.

“Another Black Velvet for ya, English?” She looks up, startled, eyes running over your face before she quickly finishes typing and locks her phone.

“No, thank you, I think I’ll be leaving. My date should’ve been here forty minutes ago. I’m afraid I’ve been stood up,” she says lightly, a self-depreciating grin on her lips. You give her a sympathetic smile and a nod before grabbing her empty glass and turning to the bottles lined on the wall. The mixing of her drink is quick, so in a minute you wipe up a full glass and place it in front of her.

“On the house. A gorgeous woman like you shouldn’t leave without someone buying you a drink.” The words come out a lot more hesitantly than you’re used to. Being nice with a flirtatious undertone is almost part of your job as a bartender, but you’re surprised to realize this time the flirtation is genuine and not because of your job. It deeply baffles you, because you’ve never been into picking up women at your job, for Dottie’s delight.

The smile she shoots you is surprised at first, but it quickly turns into a pleased one and it makes your whole chest area clench again. She raises her glass in your direction and downs a mouthful.

“You try callin’ ‘em? Maybe they got caught up in somethin’?” you ask, trying to comfort her for reasons you don’t understand yourself. You just want to wipe away the deep frown blemishing her face.

“Yes, three times. A few texts. No answer.” The cold tone of her voice makes you wince slightly. You’re certainly glad you’re not in this person’s skin. This woman will run them over like she’s a truck.

“If it makes ya feel better, once I was forty five minutes late for a date with a girl that took me _months_ to get up the courage to ask out. All 'cause I got too caught up on a chapter I was writin’,” you whisper to her while leaning forward over the counter, like it’s a secret. The corners of her mouth twitch in what you can tell is a barely contained smile and it makes something bubble on the bottom of your stomach.

 _That_ is a bad sign and a warning that you should walk away. You were never too good about listening to any warnings, though. Life would have been much easier if you were.

And Giulia might still be here.

“It doesn’t. I hope she never answered any of your calls again,” she deadpans, eyes narrowed in, what you hope, is a playful glare. Your date had actually still been waiting when you finally showed up, but you feel like maybe that’s not something you should tell her. Instead you shoot her a sly smile with a shrug of your shoulders and she laughs.

You’re used to Dottie and Carol’s high-pitched giggles, Linda’s gruff chuckles and even the scoff-like laughs from the security guys. Which is why her bubbly, unrestrained, full-body laughter catches you off guard.

Or you’ll keep telling yourself that for the sake of your sanity. You don’t want to think about any other reasons why her laughter could have had such a strong effect on you.

“So, you’re a writer? What do you write?” she asks around the rim of her glass before downing half of it in one gulp. You arch an impressed eyebrow and she winks coyly in a way that makes you feel your cheeks burn up.

It makes you wonder _what_ is it about this woman that every single movement, as tiny as it might be, affects you in some huge way. You’re just glad the air in the bar is heavy and warm, and you can use the fact you’re wearing a leather jacket over your blue tank top to excuse your flushed cheeks.

“I have mostly fantastic short stories finished. But now I’m workin’ on a comic book of a queer, female hero and on a queer novel," you mumble with as little enthusiasm as you possibly can. You've gotten used to negative reactions from women when they realize you won’t be writing sonnets about them, so you learned to downplay the only thing that you have been passionate about in the last years.

“Really? Both at the same time? While _also_ working here?” To your surprise this woman sounds _and_ looks thoroughly impressed.

It’s her turn to lean forward, arms braced on the counter and face full of genuine curiosity. You tug the sleeve of your jacket down, only to push it back up to your elbow in a nervous twitch. Her legitimate interest makes you feel uneasy, like everything about her seems to.

“Actually, I’ve already written the first five issues of the comic book. So now drawing is in process,” you answer a bit more enthusiastically. The way her expression becomes more impressed instead of turning bored boosting your confidence.

“You write _and_ draw?” she asks, surprised. Laughter bursts out of your lips before you can stop it and you just shake your head as she looks at you, face contorted in confusion.

“Nah, I can just barely draw stick people. Linda’s the artist,” you clarify between chuckles, pointing to the glass box on the corner to your left where the cash register is managed.

Linda’s seated inside it, her light golden brown skin shinning under the direct light above her, the sidecut on the right side of her head well-kept thanks to your constant grooming, looking bored as hell as she scrolls through her phone, her left hand playing absentmindedly with her nose ring.

“Is that…bullet-proof glass?” she asks, sounding somewhere in between amused and baffled.

“That it is,” you reply, evenly. “Howard’s really concerned for the safety of his employees. It got nothin’ to do with keepin’ his money safe at all.” The pointed look you give her pulls another bubbly laugh out of her lips. Your fingers tingle with how much you want to reach out and touch the dimple on her cheek.

A prolonged silence settles between the two of you for a few beats.

“So… you enjoy comics?” You grimace as soon as the words are out of your mouth. Of all the nerdy things you could have said. However, the woman smiles, amused.

“I do, yes.” Alright, short answers, you can take a hint. You glance over her shoulder, looking for Dottie or Carol, but, of course, when you need them they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Hopefully you’ll get to read ours someday then,” you remark with a tight grin.

You’re about to step away and leave her be when she speaks up again, that same genuinely interested tone of voice.

“What about your novel?” she asks.

“Oh… I’m halfway done with it. It’s going well… I think.”

“That’s wonderful. And do you have anything published yet?” she questions and you think you’re about to get whiplash, from how quickly that turned around.

“Not mainstream, no. I have a self-published book with a few of my short stories,” you reply hesitantly. She smiles widely, sips on her drink and then leans forward until she’s halfway over the counter.

“And what name should I look for to find it?” she asks very deliberately and, oh. _Oh!_ Her voice is smooth and breathy and just as suggestive as the smirk on her lips. You grin knowingly at her, leaning the rest of the way forward until there’re only a couple of inches separating the tip of your noses.

“You’ll have to put in some serious work to find it, English. I believe there’s only one copy out there,” you remark teasingly and her eyebrows shoot up, smirk still firmly in place. “ _But_ it’s Angela Martinelli. In here, just Angie, though.” She bites her bottom lip while nodding and your gaze instantly follows the movement, locking onto her lips.

Which, you tell yourself, is why you’re so caught off guard when she springs forward and plants a kiss on each of your cheeks. Your heart stutters in the middle of a beat and you are frozen in place, eyes still staring at where her lips were before.

“Nice to meet you, Angie. Peggy Carter.” Your mind takes a second to catch up, but then _Peggy Carter_ starts running through it like a prayer. You’ve never heard someone say their own name in such a deliberate, suggestive way. Like it was meant to affect you the way it did.

The single ring of a new order, on the screen under the counter, pulls you out of whatever trance the touch of her lips on your skin has put you under. You read the order and then give Peggy an apologetic smile while you place a tray on the counter.

“Just a sec, gotta set up an order," you tell her. She nods and watches as you place six shot glasses on the tray, sipping on her almost finished drink.

“You have an interesting system with the electronic cards and the orders sent via tablets by the waitresses,” she comments and you briefly glance at her with an arched eyebrow while pouring tequila in the shot glasses. “You don’t often see it used in bars like this one,” she offers with a movement of her hand. And there it is. You shoot her a knowing grin as you move to the beer keg.

“Did ya expect anything else from such an upscale establishment?” you ask her with a teasing grin while filling a glass with beer and she lets out a small snort. The cutest snort you’ve ever heard, you’re sure. “Howard’s a bit of a tech nerd and he has implemented the system in all his bars around the city, even in the poorer neighborhoods,” you explain and she nods thoughtfully.

You finish filling the last glass of beer just as Dottie waltzes up to the counter, hands you her empty tray and snatches up the one you just loaded with a mocking salute that you mirror quickly. Peggy laughs and you grin at her before you start running a rag over the countertop. You figure it’s already too late to try and act cool around her anyway.

“It was a pain in the ass gettin’ used to it, but I have to admit it does make for a more efficient work,” you say, your free hand moving around in the same rhythm of your words. “The girls don’t have to wait while I get the orders and I don’t have to waste time worryin’ ‘bout the money.” You shrug and she grins in understanding.

“It just doesn’t seem to quite fit this place,” she comments casually.

“Neither do you,” you rebut with a pointed look. Peggy’s smirk grows slowly and she stares you down in a way that leaves your mouth dry and your heart racing.

“You don’t really know me, Angie,” she remarks, voice all breathy as she leans forward.

You’re about to suggest that you _could_ when a shout from a group of men at the other end of the counter grabs your attention. You make a show of rolling your eyes in Peggy’s direction before you walk to them, her laughter ringing quietly in the background, overpowered by all the other noise. You get them their drinks, ring up their cards and walk back to Peggy, who’s downing the rest of her drink.

“Thank you for the drink, but I should be going. I have a court date early tomorrow,” she explains and you let out a low whistle as you brace yourself against the counter.

“Ah, fancy lawyer,” you comment deliberately, earning a roll of eyes from Peggy. “Thought you were too young, but shoulda taken the hint from your shinning suit.”

“Defense attorney, _actually,"_  she rebuts, hand rummaging through her purse until she fishes a card out of it. “If you ever find yourself in any kind of trouble, Miss Martinelli. You look like you’re the kind of girl who does.” She slides the card towards you with a teasing grin and arched eyebrows.

“You don’t know the half of it, English,” you say, grabbing the card. Thick paper, shinning black ink, three different numbers and what you assume is the logo from her office. “Wow, shinnin’ card, fancy Upper East Side office address. How the hell did ya end up in this side of East Harlem?” you ask, sure that your face matches how baffled your voice sounds.

“My date’s idea of a good place to get to know each other,” she deadpans and you wince sympathetically. Not even you would ever bring someone here on a first date and not just because Linda, Carol and Dottie would never let you hear the end of it. “Yeah, not a great first impression after years of not dating.” She shoots you a look that tells you just _how_ unimpressed she was by the whole situation.

“Oh, you just gettin’ back into the scene?” you question with an overly-suggestive tone, trying to get another laugh out of her. “Too focused on becomin’ a hotshot _attorney_ before?” What you get, instead of a laugh, is hardening features and a somber look that settles over Peggy’s eyes. Your heart clenches at her pained expression and your fingers itch to reach out and offer a comforting touch, but you don’t believe she’d welcome it.

“Yes, I am just getting back to it,” she answers, pausing for a beat, before adding with finality, “too intimate a topic to discuss with someone I just met, though. No offense.” You shake your head, trying for a playful grin as you raise your hands. After all, you do understand that there’re some things that are just too personal.

“Gotcha, no offense taken at all,” you remark lightly and she grins, her features softening slightly. “Like you said it’s getting late. Can I ask one of the boys to get a taxi for ya?” you offer and the rest of her face relaxes into a wide smile. You swallow your swelling heart back down your throat.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” she answers as she gathers her purse and blazer. You nod and grab the walkie-talkie from under the counter.

“Hey, Jarvis?” you call into it and watch as the taller of the two men standing inside the doors reaches for his own device, your eyes locking across the room.

“Yes? How can I be of use?” His answer resonates through some static and you can only hear it over the noise because you bring the walkie-talkie to your ear.

“Put a taxi on hold out there and then escort your fellow English here in the counter to it, please.” He nods from across the room and disappears through the door. You place the device back under the counter and grin at Peggy. “You’re all set, your Majesty.” You dip your head in a short bow and she laughs, like the dark cloud you can still see hovering over her head doesn’t exist. “Hope to see ya again, Peggy Carter.” The words slip out of your mouth and it throws you off how much you mean them.

Peggy smiles, shrugs into her blazer and stands up.

“I think you just might,” she remarks, serious. Her right hand settles on top of yours for a hot second before she squeezes it and pulls away with a wide grin.

You watch as Peggy goes up to Linda, quickly pays for her one drink and then walks towards the door, turning around once to wave at you, wiggling her fingers slowly. Jarvis opens the door for her and then follows her outside, no doubt rushing to open the taxi door, too.

As soon as she’s out the door you allow yourself a deep sigh as you press your hand tightly against your chest, feeling your heart slamming against your ribs. When you look up is to find Linda watching you suspiciously, her eyes narrowed behind her thick rimmed, square glasses. You decide to ignore her in favor of cleaning the used trays and glasses.

You figure as long as you don’t have to say it out loud, you can ignore how much Peggy Carter, fancy English attorney, has tipped your whole world off its axis in less than an hour.

 

* * *

 

 

The usual afternoon crew - of people with criminal records that are too long to allow them non shady, nocturnal, mostly illegal jobs - is playing pool on the mezzanine, but aside from them the L&L is empty. Dottie and Carol won’t arrive for another two hours at least and Linda is just hanging out with you behind the counter, playing some game on her phone with an annoying beeping sound that is driving you crazy.

You’re trying to get some writing done before the Sunday night madness starts and you’ve been persevering through the distracting noises until your eyes involuntarily glance up to the entrance, almost as if pulled by a gravitational, unstoppable force. A second later the door bounces open and in walks Peggy Carter.

Surprise is an understatement to the feeling that you’re sure colors your face. She said you might see each other again, but you did not expect it to be just two days later.

She makes her way towards you, actually _struts_ her way over, exuding confidence from the top of her high heels. Your heart starts beating at the rhythm of her strut and you feel Linda’s heavy, questioning stare on your back, but you ignore it in favor of answering Peggy’s bright smile with one of your own.

“English, what a surprise! Ain’t it a bit early for you to be at a bar?” you ask teasingly when she approaches the counter. Then you notice her work suitcase and sharp suit and you drop the tone. “Oh, trouble with work? Need a drink?” She shrugs off her blazer as she shakes her head, wide smile still in place when she sits on the stool in front of you.

“Oh, no! Nothing of the sort. I was just in the neighborhood with a client and thought I’d pass by to see if you were working today.” She braces herself against the counter as she speaks and up close you see a glint in her eyes that you have a hard time pinpointing, mostly because the sight of the deep dimple on her right cheek throws you off balance just like it did the other day. “Let you know I found ‘Short tales of a parallel dimension’,” she says casually and you wince, hiding your face behind your hands. “It was quite hard to convince the public library at Little Italy to give away the only copy they had of their favorite local writer’s work, I must say.” You recognize now the glint in her eyes because it matches the cocky, winning tone of her voice. It leaves you more flustered than you’d ever admit. You narrow your eyes at her, even as your lips twitch at her delighted face.

“I’m offended they let go of it at all. How did ya do it?” you ask, serious, and she sobers up, even though the glint in her eyes is still strong.

“I don’t often do it," she starts, _too_ casually, "but I thought it’d be alright to drop my father’s name for this little thing.” You arch your eyebrows questioningly and she shifts on the stool before giving what, you assume, was meant to be a dismissive shrug. Still, you can see the heaviness of what she’s trying to brush off weighing down on her shoulders. “Being the daughter of a New York senator can work in your favor, every now and then.” She keeps a light tone, but avoids your eyes and it takes you a second to process the information.

“ _Oh_. You’re Carter like Senator Carter,” you comment, making sure your voice sounds as free of judgement as possible.

“Guilty,” she remarks with a grimace, making sure to move on quickly from the topic. “But _also_ , I might have promised I’d print them a brand new copy and get it autographed by Miss Martinelli herself and I _do_ believe that was the selling point.” She shoots you a winning smile before her eyes widen slightly. “If that’s alright with you, of course?” she asks, serious, and a grin pulls at your lips.

“Yeah, ‘course! Go right ahead, it cost me nothin’ to print it and I never profited from it anyways,” you reply and Peggy beams at you.

“Then that’ll be two copies you’ll have to sign,” she remarks, wiggling her eyebrows. You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“My very first signing,” you say, wistfully. Peggy’s smile softens and she reaches out to grab your hand, the same way she had done before leaving last time. You feel a shock running from where her skin touches yours and up your arms, surely leaving a trail of goosebumps under your long sleeved, plaid shirt.

“First of many, I’m sure,” she remarks with so much confidence that you are inclined to believe her, despite the unsuccessful five years since you wrote that book. She squeezes your hand and pulls away, gathering her purse and blazer. “Now I should be going, Angie. It’s Sunday and I still have one more client to visit.” She stands up and starts walking backwards, gaze locked with yours. “Your book is waiting for me at home and the new one should be ready by the end of the week. I’ll bring both so you can sign them, then.” She wiggles the fingers of her free hand in goodbye and you smile as you wave back.

“I’ll be here waiting.” You want to hide behind the counter as soon as the words leave your lips. Linda’s snort behind you confirms how pathetic you just sounded. Peggy smiles, amused, before turning on her heels and walking away.

“Bye, Linda!” she shouts over her shoulder and Linda raises a hand without taking her eyes off her phone.

“See ya!” Linda shouts back and then glances up at you, a wicked smirk on her lips. You try to ignore her gaze, but your eyes betray you, glancing her way. You grimace as soon as you see her face. “ _Really_?! After all these fuckin’ years and _she_ is the type that makes you go all stupid?” she asks, chuckling with a soft shake of her head. “Jesus, no wonder you never gave me a fuckin’ chance back then, Ange,” she says teasingly and you feel your cheeks heat up. You turn back around, facing the counter, to get away from her annoying face.

“Don’t know whatchu talkin’ ‘bout,” you lie to your best friend, knowing very well that it’s useless to try and hide stuff like that from her. Linda knows you too well. Her laughter tells you all you need to know about how unsuccessful your attempt was.

She’s right, of course. It has been a long time since you were seriously interested in a woman and even then you were never this affected. Never this blushing mess that lets stupid words leave her mouth without filtering them. It’s been years since you had even a strong crush on anyone – falling in love a luxury that you haven’t felt yourself deserving of since Giulia’s been gone.

You suppose it’s not entirely your fault, how were you supposed to not be shaken up? Peggy is an intelligent, successful, beautiful woman. Who was interested enough, after having just met you, to track down the only copy of your stupid, self-published book to the public library of your old neighborhood and work her way so she could have the original without leaving them with nothing.

In your life book that is a powerful, slightly terrifying woman who’s very worthy of this teenage-crushing that hasn’t happened since you were actually a teenager.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, the pouring rain is loudly hitting the ceiling high windows of the living room in your apartment, making you bury yourself further down under the blanket. You officially moved into the apartment above the L&L with Linda soon after you started working there and you two have made a home out of it – courtesy of Howard and the fact that you and Linda run his bar as if you owned it.

The loud clashes of thunder and the strong wind outside make you incredibly thankful that the L&L stays closed on Mondays, so you have no reason to get out of your comfy couch for the rest of the day. You’ve been sitting on it for hours, trying to get your head into the chapter you’re writing and pretending like you haven’t been thinking about texting Peggy since you woke up at ten.    

Linda’s sitting at her drawing table beside the window, sketching the first issue of your still-to-be-named comic. The sound of her pencil running over the paper usually goes unnoticed when you’re working together, but your lowered concentration makes it seem like she’s doing it right beside your ear and you just can’t focus on the words on the screen of your computer. You grab Peggy’s business card from where it’s been sitting, ever since you woke up, on your hoodie’s pocket. You twirl the paper between your fingers, pondering whether you should text her or not. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her reading your book, but what would you even say?

Before you have fully convinced yourself that you’re doing it your hand reaches for your phone. You punch in the number in the card listed as her personal phone into your contacts and open _WhatsApp_ , looking for her name. You stare at the blank chat window for over five minutes and just starting to write something has never been so difficult before. And you’ve had some serious writer’s block that lasted years.

 _“Hey! Did you get a chance to read any stories from the book? - Angie”,_ you write, erase and rewrite your name a couple of times, trying to decide between your full name or maybe Angela. When you realize how hard you’re overthinking it, you figure just Angie will work.

The reply comes after five minutes of you pretending to write while looking at your phone every thirty seconds. The message ringtone makes Linda look up from her papers to glare at you and you quickly put your phone on silent mode.

 _“Hello, Angie. I did read a few last night and this morning before taking it to be copied.”_ Your heart settles heavily on the bottom of your stomach at her reply. You find yourself caring deeply about her opinion of you. Of your work and your mind.

 _“And?”_ You anxiously wait another couple minutes for her answer.

 _“A very interesting insight into your mind.”_ You roll your eyes when you feel the heat that spreads through your cheeks.

 _“I was 19! And that’s not really an answer.”_ This time her reply comes quickly.

 _“It’s a very enjoyable read :) You were already quite talented at 19. I understand why the people at the Bensonhurst public library wanted to keep it.”_ A small smile tugs at your lips and you’re really glad Linda’s busy. You’d never hear the end of it if she caught you smiling at your phone.

 _“I expect written notes with your thoughts and suggestions.”,_ you send and her answer comes quickly.

_“As you should. How is work?”_

_“The bar is closed on Mondays. Linda and I are home, drawing and writing, respectively :)”_

_“Of course, I’m not sure how much of a success a comic book made of stick people would be. You two live together?”_

_“It’d be a creative twist of the genre. And yes, in the apartment above the bar.”_

_“You keep telling yourself that. And is that an invitation?”_ A surprised chuckle leaves your lips and Linda looks over at you, a questioning look in her eyes. You wave her off, certain that there isn’t a way for you to tell her that you think Peggy is flirting with you that won’t result in relentless teasing.

 _“Don’t you have work?”,_ you write back.

 _“Touché. How is writing going?”_ You look at the small paragraph you’ve written all day and that you probably won’t keep before answering.

_“The fact that I’m here texting you should tell you everything you need to know.”_

_“I’m offended.”_ It’s her short answer. You smile down at your phone and start typing a reply.

“I realize you’re over there bein’ a fuckin’ sap, smilin’ down at your phone while you flirt with Queen Elizabeth like an awkward teenager, but I could use your imaginative, giant brain for a minute here,” Linda says, mockingly, in one breath. You cringe instantly and look up to find her watching you, a little smirk on her lips.

“I hate ya,” you remark with a deep sigh. Her smirk turns into a full, bright smile that turns her eyes into slits and gets her nose all scrunched up. She’s an annoyingly adorable asshole and she knows it. “Just gimme a sec.” You turn back to your phone and type quickly.

 _“Sorry, Linda needs my creative help in the comic. Back to work for me. Let’s see if after talking to you I get my inspiration back.”_ You hit send before you realize that, apparently, you also lack filter while texting.

 _“Are you saying I’m your muse? :)”_ You bite your lip while you think your answer over.

 _“One can hope.”_ You figure the flirting can go both ways, you sure need to score some cool points here.

_“Smooth. Guess that means I should get back to it, too. Have fun!”_

_“Have a good day, English :D”_ You place your laptop on the coffee table and then throw the blanket off your lap before standing up.

 _“See you on Friday :)”_ The message brings a smile to your lips and makes your heart skip a beat. You hope it means Peggy is looking forward to it as much as you are.

Linda snickers as you walk over, smile still in place, and you don’t answer her mocking verbally, but slap her on the back of her head when you’re close enough. It does nothing but make her laugh more loudly and tease you for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day the whole afternoon crew is at the bar, which is not unusual for a Tuesday. ‘W _e miss this place too much on Mondays, Angie’,_ they say _._ You’re hanging out around one of the pool tables, listening as the guy everyone calls Speedy explains the work he did on the engine of an honest to God ’53 Eldorado Cadillac that he, illegally you’re sure, got his hands on. You only believe him because he’s proudly displaying pictures and videos he took with that masterpiece of a car.

Something catches your attention on the conversation happening on the pool table behind you and you easily tune out the conversation you were being a part of to pay attention to it.

“He been here in the hood under Navarro’s wing this whole time?”

“Nah, just for a few months now, hangin’ ‘round his clubs.”

“And ya tellin’ me the police don’t suspect nothin’? There’s always cops ‘round there.” You contain your urge to scoff out loud. You know more about the reputation of Navarro’s clubs than you’d like, he’d fallen on your radar years ago during your investigation.

“They do, they don’t, it don’t matter. There are just ghost detectives on it, nobody’s really investigatin’ De Marco no more.”

De Marco.

_De Marco._

The name rings through your head and your fingers clench around the pool table reflexively. You’ve been on the lookout for anything related to him for years and it’s not really surprising that you’d pick up on a conversation about him even when you were less expecting it. Your head is swimming in a white fog and you have to focus extra hard to keep up with the rest of the conversation.

“So he gonna go back to his business in Brooklyn?”

“This weekend, I hear, gonna go run everythin’ from the shadows. He ain’t even being subtle, y’know, just roamin’ ‘round the streets like he ain’t done nothin’.” The joints of your fingers ache from how tightly you’re grabbing at the pool table, but it helps you keep focused as the white fog is replaced by a raging red flag that overcomes your senses and makes you want to scream and break the table in half.

“Hey, you okay, Angie?” One of the girls asks and you recognize her voice, but you don’t have enough self-control to focus and pinpoint it while you’re using most of it to make your face look less murderous than you feel.

“Sure, fine,” you answer quickly before rushing down the stairs to the main floor and towards the counter.

A glass of water and a deep breath help you calm down enough to work out a plan. You text Dottie and Carol to ask them if they can cover for you at work for the rest of the week and after they agree you go out back to talk to Linda. You find her at the small common area for employees, talking on the phone. You gather your purse and coat and then motion for her that you need to talk. She eyes you curiously and asks the person on the phone to wait, lowers the phone and nods at you.

“I need to take off for the next couple days. I already talked to Dottie and Carol, they’ll cover me. Can you serve out there until they get here?” you say quickly and Linda looks wide eyed at you. She takes a second to recover, but then quickly stands up and walks over to you.

“Yeah, ‘course I can. Everythin’ okay?” she asks, eyes and voice filled with worry. You smile tightly before squeezing her into a quick hug.

“It’ll be soon,” you assure her, before walking to the door in the room that leads to your apartment upstairs. Linda’s eyes heavy on your back as they watch you walk away.

The key turns loudly when you lock your bedroom door and you go straight to your wardrobe, sliding out one of the boxes at the bottom and placing it on top of your bed. You find the file you have on Navarro and take a quick look at the list of his clubs in the neighborhood. You’re sure you can find which one De Marco is hanging out at until tomorrow if you start now.

A few minutes later you hop on your Harley 1200 and spend the whole day going through the bars around Navarro’s less popular clubs. You talk to the people who look like frequent costumers and to the staff, but no luck. If De Marco is really walking around freely like you heard, someone has to have seen him.

It’s around two in the morning when you finally wonder if you haven’t looked at this the wrong way. De Marco is an overconfident son of a bitch who thinks he’s free to do as he pleases, it would be just like him to try and hide in plain sight. You head to East Harlem’s most popular club, Navarro’s _Bailando._

It’s late, most people are way past drunk and their tongues are loose. The first bar you hit is a win. This is the place. You learn De Marco is at the club every single night, leaves on foot around four, almost always alone.  You leave the bar and go into the club to be a hundred percent certain.

And there he is in the VIP area.

Arm wrapped around a redheaded girl and a glass in his hand while he laughs at what was probably his own joke, as if he doesn’t have a worry in the world. Just looking at his face makes you feel both nauseous and murderous. You leave the club and hide in the shadows of the closest alley, sights trained to the club’s entrance, waiting. De Marco leaves the club at 4:15. You follow him subtly the two blocks he walks, thankful for another skill learned in the years you, regretfully, worked for the Italian mafia that have come in handy tonight. He walks into a residential building and you wait around for another hour, in an alley where you’re sure the street cameras can’t catch you, to make sure there’s nobody following just behind him. Then you walk back to where you left your motorcycle and drive home.

Using the back entrance to go straight up to your apartment at almost six in the morning, you shoot Dottie a message while ascending the stairs. Once in your room you debate one more time the pros of just texting Detective Muller and giving the NYPD De Marco’s location, but you know if it reaches the wrong ears within the police department he could escape again. For good this time.

Plus they’ve had time to do their jobs, now it’ll be on your terms.

The whole morning you spend coming up with your plan, going over and over every single detail until you’re sure there are no flaws. You know Navarro is involved in the whole thing somehow, you plan on finding out the how and then you’ll choose the path to follow from there.

As soon as you hear the first signs that Linda is awake you close your laptop, put it aside and pretend to be asleep. As expected she comes to check up on you, a faint knock at the door and then the sound of it opening. She spends a couple of minutes there at the door and it would be creepy if you couldn’t _feel_ how concerned she is. It makes you wish you could tell her everything will be okay very soon.

After you’re sure Linda has left to go open the L&L, way past noon, you get out of bed. You pull a black duffel bag from under it and start filling it with everything you’ll need. As you zip the bag closed there’s a knock on your bedroom door. You open it to find Dottie standing outside, a key dangling from her glove covered finger and a cup of coffee in her other hand.

“One untraceable, disposable bike as requested,” she announces with a small smirk. You pull the sleeve of your hoodie over your hand and grab the dangling key. Dottie’s eyes follow the movement and her face turns serious. “You sure you don’t need _me_ for whatever this is?” You throw the key on top of your bed before turning around to pull her into a hug.

With Dottie having worked for the Russian mafia the same way you worked for the Italian, even if you never talked about it, the two of you have an understanding that only under rare, tragic, life-changing circumstances a person gets out of it alive and with a clean slate like you two did.

“Thanks, Dot, but I’m all set now,” you mumble against her neck. She squeezes you tightly before pulling away, handing you the cup of coffee with a small nod and walking right out of your apartment.

You chug the coffee down and then go take a shower. The warm water runs down your body and you take your time to relax and get into the right mindset to be able to do what needs to be done. When you walk back into the bedroom, you lock the door, put Halsey’s EP on your laptop as loud as your speakers go – music was always a big part of your routine for this – and grab a suitcase from under your bed. You put your underwear, socks and a sports bra on before grabbing a pair of black yoga pants and a long sleeved, skin-tight, turtleneck top from the suitcase and placing them neatly on the bed. They are both made of an extra resistant and heat insulator material and back in the day you’ve seen a guy survive being stabbed by a knife and grazed by a bullet thanks to these clothes. You’re sure now they must have something much more efficient but you’ll settle for the extra protection you can get.

The clothes stare back at you from the bed, taunting you, reminding you of who you used to be, the things you’ve been a part of and all your past regrets. When you look down you realize your hands and arms are shaking like there’s an electric current running through them. You quickly close your hands into tight fists and take deep breaths, with your eyes closed you focus on the soothing sound of the music to try and settle your mind down.

Because this is different, you can finally find some redemption, some closure and justice now. This is about what’s right. What should have happened years ago and what shouldn’t have.

The clothes fit snuggly around your body when you put them on, just like they used to, and from then on the whole routine is basically muscle memory. You pull a pair of black combat boots out of the suitcase and sit on the bed to put them on and tie them up. Next you grab the pair of boxing hand wraps and start wrapping your hands, just like you and your brother used to do before his boxing lessons. _‘You gotta be able to protect yourself and Giulia after I leave to become a famous boxer, Angie’_ , he’d say when you asked why you had to learn how to throw a punch.

In the end you couldn’t do either, he didn’t get to live his dream and you used what he taught you to do wrong. But you’ll make it right tonight.

After you make sure the wrapping is firm, but still allows you to move your fingers, you slip on the tight, black leather gloves. Grabbing the black belt with two gun holsters from the suitcase, you stand up and click it closed around your hips, making sure it’s strapped tightly. Unzipping the inside compartment of the suitcase, you’re faced with your personal array of weapons. You grab two throwing knives and slide then into the holsters on the inside of your combat boots, making sure they are not too loose. Then you grab two identical Glocks, check their magazines, place the silencers on and secure them in the holsters on your belt, before zipping the weapons compartment closed.

While you walk to stand in front of your full body mirror, you’re not surprised by the powerful, in control feeling you get from having these clothes on. But when you look at your reflection, dressed all in black and armed, you are surprised by how much the image helps put your mind at ease. How it doesn’t bring you more guilt or regret, on the contrary, it makes you feel hopeful and in peace. You feel ready. You can do this.

After grabbing the two remaining articles from the suitcase and placing them in the bed, you zip it closed and push it back under the bed. Then you shrug the black trench coat on, button it up so the guns are hidden and place the black racing hood mask and the key Dottie brought you in its pocket. Hoisting the duffel bag across your shoulders, you walk out of the apartment and down through the back entrance. There in the alley, behind the building next door, is the bike Dottie scored you, a really nice Honda CBR1000.  You mount the bike and before putting on the helmet you wave your shoulder-length hair into a tight braid and pull the hood over your head, tucking it into the turtleneck. It leaves only your eyes out and doesn’t restrain your respiration too much.

After spending about an hour driving around the block of De Marco’s building, surveilling the surroundings, you park the motorcycle on the same camera free alley from the night before. It’s a little after six o’clock, the sky is darkening and night is coming as you settle down for what will certainly be long, boring hours of observation. Waiting has always been the worst part of doing anything like this.

By eleven the last light out of all four apartments in De Marco’s building goes out and a couple of minutes later he walks out, heading for _Bailando_ , you’re sure. Being a person of habits can be a very dangerous thing, it’s what you’ve been taught. You wait ten minutes before grabbing your bag and walking to the door of the building, helmet still over your head. After fishing your lock picking set out of your coat, you make quick work of the entrance door and head upstairs to the apartment on the left. Last one with the lights out, it has to be De Marco’s. It’s a simple door with a simple lock and in less than a minute you’re in. You take the helmet off and walk in, gun in hand ready in case anyone’s there waiting.

The studio apartment is empty, however, you realize after doing a quick sweep. You holster your gun, quickly close the curtains on the windows and grab your bag and helmet from the entrance before locking the door up again. After quickly searching for any cameras in plain sight or alarms that could’ve gone off, you place your coat and bag on top of the coffee table, grab your flashlight and start going over the place.

The refrigerator and kitchenette cupboards are mostly empty, save for a few frozen foods, milk, cereals and beer. You hit every corner of the woods to make sure there’re no hidden places in there. You turn over the couch, but there’s nothing under or behind it. Pulling out one of your knives, you cut the bottom of the couch to find, yet again, nothing. Just like you find nothing behind the TV or the two paintings hanging from the walls.  The desk table’s drawers are filled with water and power bills that go back six months and a few pictures that reassure you this _is_ De Marco’s apartment. Also no hidden places on the table. You power up his laptop to find it password protected, as expected, and decide to deal with it later. The wardrobe is surprisingly empty, but you figure he must be getting ready for his big move back to Brooklyn already. It’s another fruitless search inside it, just like in the bed frame and mattress. _And_ the suitcase also has nothing of your interest. The bathroom tells you nothing, but that De Marco is a man of little hygiene concerns.

It was a lot easier to find information before people started putting it all in their computers. But it was also a lot easier to hide information before password cracking devices were invented.

“Potato, potahto, I guess,” you mumble to yourself as you search for the device in your bag. You plug it into the computer and leave it to do its code cracking work.

You walk around the apartment again to make sure you haven’t missed a spot. Just as you’re passing the coffee table the wooden floor creaks with a hollow sound and it makes you stop immediately. You move your things to the couch before putting the coffee table to the side. Hitting the heel of your combat boots around the floor as you shine the flashlight on it, you find the opening to a safe under the floor. Inside it, half a dozen passports, stacks of dollars, euros and pesos, a phone and a gun, but still no documents of any kind. You take off the gun’s magazine and the phone’s battery, but leave it all there. Maybe the police can use it all to trace where he’s been all this time before coming back.

The device beeps with the found password match and the computer logs on. You sit on the desk chair and let a search for hidden folders running in the background as you do your manual search through the computer. Opening up the internet browser, you find his email logged in and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. You run a search in his email for anything that mentions Navarro, his name the only certain connection you have for now. The search shows over a hundred emails with his name in it, the oldest dating six years back.

The idea that you might finally understand everything that’s happened makes you freeze, heart hammering against your chest.

The ping of the background search you were running snaps you back into the task at hand, even with your heart still heavy. A big Dropbox hidden folder catches your attention and you click to open it. There are about ten different documents in it and Navarro’s name in one of them flashes at you. You open it and your eyes widen at the dossier you find. You quickly plug your USB driver in and transfer the whole folder. Next you wait until the download of all of De Marco’s email history with Navarro is done and transfer it as well.

The dossier has pages and pages of Navarro’s personal life, past and present, his club business and a lot of extra stuff that you’re sure relates to what De Marco used to do. A few of the names in the other files in the folder sound familiar to you, too. You’ve got a little over three hours before De Marco is supposed to arrive, so you pull the curtain of one of the windows open just a fraction so you can see the street he used to come back home last night and then start reading Navarro’s file.

The further you read the stronger the nauseous feeling at the bottom of your stomach becomes. Seeing everything you had imagined for years, and worse, all there explicitly detailed with proof leaves your mind swimming in that same white fog that De Marco’s name had created yesterday. You can’t allow your mind to process it and revive the images you have or you're sure you won’t be able to hold in the urge to vomit.

Scanning quickly over a few other files you realize how much bigger than just De Marco all of this is. It helps steel your belief in what you’re doing, there’s no more doubt in your mind that it _needs_ to be done.

When it nears 3:30 on the wall clock you gather the password cracking device, USB driver, flashlight and your coat and rearrange them in the bottom of your bag. Then you go stand by the window to watch the street through the open curtain. Just a little more waiting now, to have what you’ve wanted for years.

It’s just a little after 4:05 when you notice a shadow on the street and then De Marco enters your line of sight, walking towards the building without a care in the world, unaware of anything that’s about to happen. You close the curtain, pull your gun from the holster and stand just behind the door, checking if the mask’s still covering everything but your eyes.

Keys jingle outside the door and a second later De Marco walks in. He turns to lock the door again and you place the gun to his head. You’re about to open your mouth to say the words you’ve rehearsed a thousand times when, in a quick move, he turns around and the back of his fist connects with your face. You stumble back, surprised, but quickly dodge his next move and punch him straight in the nose. It starts bleeding right away. You follow it with a kick to the back of his knee and when he falls down you hit him again, knocking him out. _‘That mean left cross is your forte, sis’_ , your brother used to say.

“Shoulda just fuckin’ shot you as you walked in, son of a bitch!” you spit at his unmoving body as you holster your gun. You can already feel the left side of your face swelling under the mask.

You go around the apartment, turning on the lights and then drag him by his coat towards the bed and hoist him up. After grabbing two zip ties from your bag you tie his wrists to the headboard, tightening them as much as you can. You search his body and grab his wallet, phone and the gun strapped around his ankle, placing them at the desk table. In the bathroom, you wet a piece of cotton wool with alcohol and walk back to the bed, pressing the cotton under his nose until he stirs awake. You throw the cotton on the ground and unholster your gun, pointing it at his face again.

“You try anythin’ at all and I won’t hesitate to splatter your brains on this bed. Believe me, I’m dyin’ to,” you tell him calmly and he quickly nods his head.

“Listen, I don’t have much but you can take whatever you want,” he lies, trying to maintain his cool. You smirk behind your mask at his try.

“Really? What ‘bout all that money beneath the floor under the coffee table?” you ask, cocking your gun and he pales immediately. Now he’s really scared.

You hope he’s as scared as all those girls had been.

“I’m not here for ya money, though. It’s time to stop hidin’ like the cockroach you are and pay for your crimes!” He flinches at your tone of voice and you feel your finger itching to pull the trigger. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it and he’s assembled enough evidence against other people that his testimony wouldn’t be necessary. You take a deep breath and put the safety back on your gun, just to be sure. “Tell me where to find Navarro,” you demand and you didn’t think it was possible, but he gets even paler. You can see the sweat pooling around his hairline.

“Wh-why? What do you want with him?” he asks, stumbling over his words.

“I took a look at the blackmailing material you assembled, y’know. I know what part he played on the whole thing. He’s gotta pay for what he did, just like you,” you reply.

“Look, look, that was over five years ago an-“

“Exactly!” you shout, stepping towards the bed. “Five years and those girls’ families never got any closure 'cause you ran away like the fuckin’ coward you are!” you yell at his wide eyed face. A deep breath and you step back, pulling the safety from the gun and pointing it at him again. “Now, tell me where the fuck can I find Navarro or I’ll be done with ya right now,” you threaten and he squirms in place.

“O-okay, okay! He-he’s coming over…later. In the morning,” he stutters out and you narrow your eyes behind the mask. When you realize he can’t see it, you take a step forward and aim the gun towards his head. “I swear! He’s coming a-around ten to-to discuss my going back to Brooklyn.” If anything that makes your blood boil and you quickly take several steps back and holster your gun. When you’re back at the desk, feeling more in control, you turn back towards him.  

“Believe me, nobody’s gonna go to Brooklyn after tonight,” you deadpan. “Ain’t this a nice coincidence, though. Didn’t think ya guys would make it so easy on me.” You watch with satisfaction the way his throat bobs up and down several times.

After taking a few minutes to think the situation over and decide on the next course of action after this unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant, turn of events, you grab his phone from the desk and walk back towards the bed.

“Code?” you demand and he quickly spills it out. You unlock the phone and bring up the recording app. “Now I just need you to say some magic words for me,” you remark and he nods quickly. You’re sure he’d throw his own mother under the bus if you asked right now.

When you’re done getting what you need, you go grab one of his shirts from the suitcase and ties his ankles together with it. When you sit beside him on the mattress and reach for his scarf, he starts trashing around and you scoff at him.

“Please, I have a gun, you really think I’d try and strangle ya?” you ask and he glares. You suppose that’s fair enough. You wrap his scarf around his mouth as a gag. “Torture isn’t really my thing, although I heard it was yours and your guys’ thing.” He stares wide eyed and his scared face only makes you want to punch him to near death, so you walk away. You go sit at his computer and get ready to wait, again.

At first you think about reading more of the files, but reading about those things with De Marco here now, you might not be able to control yourself. Instead you open his iTunes and try to find something to listen to. After yelling at him that his taste in music sucks, you settle for some classical Italian non-sense that was in his recently played list. You find a book online and drag the desk chair to the feet of the bed and settle with the computer there.

At around seven in the morning you feel your eyes getting heavier and you quickly stand up from the desk, to where you had returned, and go to the bathroom. As you pass by the bed you tug at the zip ties to make sure they are still holding tightly. In the bathroom, you finally take off your mask after hours of having it on, go to the shower and use the hose to wash your face, wincing when you press the glove against your swollen left eye, but it helps you get more awake and alert. You dry your gloves and face with some toilet paper then throw it in the toilet and flush it down. You brace yourself against the sink and stare at your reflection in the mirror, the skin around your left eye already turning a deep purple, and you talk yourself back into the space you were before. Just a few more hours.

A stupid baseball game is playing on the muted TV while the music still plays from his computer when the intercom finally rings, at exactly ten. You turn the TV off, turn up the music, grab De Marco’s phone and go to answer it. You pull the receiver out and play the recording on his phone.

“Yeah?” De Marco’s gruff voice says from the phone. After the answer comes with a curt,  _‘Navarro’_ , you play the next recording, “Come up, door’s open.” You buzz them in, unlock the door and go to stand in the place you had prepared. Just inside the bathroom, behind the nightstand you placed at the door, gun trained at the space beside the wall that separates the bedroom from the living room.

The door creaks as it opens and you listen to footsteps, definitely more than one person, possibly three. ‘ _Holy fuck’_ , you curse in your mind while unholstering your other gun. The footsteps stop and the door closes, the lock clicking a second later.

“Hey, where ya at?” Navarro asks and you play the next recording.

“Bedroom,” De Marco’s voice rings from the phone and you steel yourself.

Three men walk around the corner, two of them with raised guns. You quickly shoot both in their kneecaps and they fall to the ground. Still, a bullet sinks into the wall a couple of inches above your head and another hits the nightstand. Who you assume is Navarro tries to run away when he sees you and you quickly shoot his kneecaps, too. You jump over the nightstand and rush to kick their guns away from them.

“Woah, fellas. Ain’t I glad I brought extra zip ties, we got ourselves a party!” you exclaim, holstering one gun and reaching for the restraints you had placed on the desk table. “You should be glad I was here before your friends, De Marco, or you’d be dead now,” you shoot at the man still tied to the bed.

Navarro is now leaning against the wall close to the desk table, clutching his shot knees, the smaller of his men is in the middle of the room, curled up on the floor and the bigger guy has his back pressed against the wall that separates the bedroom from the rest of the apartment. Keeping an eye on the other two, you go up to the big guy.

“Get your hands behind your back unless you’d rather have a bullet in the back of your head, buddy," you say, pressing your gun to his head. He leans his shoulder against the wall and obeys you.

Getting the zip tie around his hands, you tug it closed tightly. You’re about to stand back up when he lurches his neck backwards and hits you with the back of his skull, _hard_. Your vision blurs as you stumble back and fall on your ass. You recover just as Navarro is aiming his gun at you and you shoot him in the arm before coiling down in a rush of adrenaline. His bullet grazes your left shoulder, tearing through the top without breaking your skin, but you feel it burning. You hear a grunt as the smaller guy lunges for you, but with a swift kick to the side of his head he falls down, unconscious.

“Don’t know why I was bein’ nice, but I’m over it,” you grit through your teeth as you stand up. You holster your gun and turn to the big guy, who’s already tied up, before knocking him out with a punch. Your hand vibrates pleasantly as you stalk towards Navarro, who’s clutching the bullet wound in his right arm.

“I won’t try an-anythin’ else, promise,” he gasps out, stretching his left arm in a placating gesture that only serves to make you angrier.

“Oh, then it’s okay, 'cause the word of a scumbag criminal who treats li’l’ girls like they are his property is worth so much,” you remark, anger slipping through every syllable. He flinches and tries to press himself further against the wall as you tower over him. “Sadly for ya, De Marco already gave me all I need, so I got no reason to keep ya up and talkin’.” You deliver the perfect cross punch that would make your brother very proud, knocking Navarro unconscious.

Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention and you watch De Marco struggle against his zip ties. It fills you with joy, knowing that he’s finally absolutely terrified for his life. You take your time tying Navarro and the small guy’s hands behind their backs and then placing all of them against the foot of the bed. You tie their ankles with De Marco’s clothes, just like you did with him, just to be sure. You get their wallets, phones and an extra gun out of the big guy and place it all on the desk table.

When you finally turn towards him, De Marco goes completely still and his eyes grow to the size of pool balls.

“Remember how I said torture wasn’t my thing?” you ask and he starts trashing around in the bed again. It makes you smirk under your mask. “I’m sure, where you’re all goin’, there’ll be a line waitin’ to get their turn with ya. You might even find the dad of one of those girls there. No doubt he’ll get to be first in line,” you say, casually, as you climb into the bed, placing one knee on each side of De Marco’s torso. You take his scarf off his mouth.

“Pl-please, I-," he starts, but you place your glove covered hand over his mouth with a glare.

“ _Also_ , I decided to open a slight exception for ya. Y’know I could just chloroform ya, I brought everythin’ I need with me. But I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I went easy on ya,” you explain before starting to punch his face. They’re weaker punches so they don’t leave you with that vibrant feeling, but you can live with it if it means you can punch him more times.  After half a dozen punches that leave him with both eyebrows and both sides of his lip split, he’s still tugging on his restraints and conscious enough to turn his head and spit the blood out of his mouth. So you deck him one last time, with as much force as you can put into your left shoulder and hip, and he passes out.

After rechecking his zip ties you get off the bed and quickly get his blood off your gloves, in the bathroom sink, with some water and toilet paper. When you’re done you walk to your bag on the couch and grab the little poster you had made. ‘JUSTICE WILL BE MADE. IF THE POLICE CAN’T CATCH YOU, I WILL. CRIMINALS CAN’T HIDE FOREVER’, written in black, bold letters. You tape it to the wall behind the bed, just above De Marco’s tied hands.

Grabbing one of the cell phones from the desk, you try a few angles until you can frame the four of them and the poster perfectly and take a picture. You then move to his computer and attach the hidden folder you had found and the download you had made of De Marco’s emails with Navarro to a new email and put Teresa Campbell’s email address on the bar. She’s one of two people you trust to keep the investigation going, after what you did tonight. _‘I trust you to make good use of this and leave no rock unturned’_ , you write in the body of the email and then send it. You leave what you found open in the computer for the police – they really should thank you for doing their work, but you’re happy that’s never going to happen.

After making sure you’ve gathered all your stuff, you place your mask, guns and belt in the bag and shrug your coat back on. Then you open a new text on the phone you took, attach the picture to it and write, _‘Think you’ve worked hard for this scoop. Get to 204 E 127th st apt 2A ASAP. And check your email soon.’_ You punch Teresa’s personal number in and send it to her. Quickly you open another text, attach the same picture and write, _‘You should come pick up your trash, Detective. And don’t forget what you’ve learned in the past: trash is everywhere around you. 204 E 127th st apt 2A ASAP.’_ You put in Detective Ana Muller’s number and send the text, hoping she’ll understand your message.

After pulling the hood of your coat over your head and pushing the biggest sunglasses you own over your face, the pain around your face registering now that you’ve got almost no adrenaline left, you go over to one of the windows and pull the curtains completely open. Then you hoist your bag over your shoulder, unlock the door and slip out.

One of the neighbors is leaving and she holds the door open for you, you say a quick,  _‘Thanks’,_ before lowering your head and rushing to the alley where the motorcycle you used is still parked. You cross the whole alley until you exit into the next street, turn left and make your way around, head lowered, until you get  to the extremely tall corner building on the opposite side of the street to De Marco’s building. You break through the back entrance and hurry up the ten floors until you reach the apartmentless floor that gives access to the rooftop. Grabbing the binoculars from your bag, you open the window and point them towards the building you just left. After adjusting the zoom a bit, you get a perfect view of the apartment and the four unconscious men still inside it. You’ve been feeling yourself deflate, slowly, now that everything’s been found, said and done. You just want to hand it over to someone else.

Less than ten minutes later a news van stops just outside the building and a camera-woman jumps out of it and starts filming the building. Not long after, Teresa jumps out of the van, fixing her suit with another woman glued to her side, trying to powder her glowing dark skin and fix her curls at the same time. She pats the woman’s hands away, grabs her microphone and stands in front of the camera. A couple of minutes later you can hear the faded sound of police sirens and an uncomfortable weight settles on your stomach. Maybe Ana didn’t understand your message after all and brought the NYPD with her.

The weight dissolves quickly, however, when only one car comes screeching around the corner. Teresa motions for her camera-woman to turn the camera off and as soon as Ana’s out the car she’s onto her. They talk hurriedly and Ana storms inside the building as Teresa positions herself back in front of the camera. You watch, through the binoculars, the moment that Ana steps into the apartment and finds the men. She checks the wallets you left on the desk table and then spends a few minutes going through De Marco’s computer. A tired chuckle leaves your lips when she starts jumping around in what you suppose is a small, excited victory dance. New, different sirens are approaching and soon enough the street is filled with FBI vans. You sigh, relieved in the knowledge that it’s less likely that the FBI was bought to overlook this. You could kiss Ana right now, but you need to go before they siege the whole block.

You close the window and quickly strip out of all your clothes. From your bag you grab red jeans, a grey and navy plaid shirt, black converses, and your black leather jacket and get dressed in them. It takes you a minute to get the blonde wig on top of your head just right, but when you’re satisfied you slip your sunglasses back on and make your way down the stairs and out of the building. After walking two blocks over to Park Avenue, you hail a taxi and have it drop you at 3rd Avenue, three blocks from home. The bag resting across your shoulders feels heavier and heavier with each step you take through the back alleys and you almost sink to your knees when you get to the L&L.

Thankfully, the bar is already open so you slip through the back entrance into an empty apartment. You make a mental note to install some extra locks and bolts on that, as it turns out back doors are not very safe. You drop the bag in your room before going to take a shower, where you let the warm water run down your body and soothe your aching muscles and spirit. When you get back to your room, you apply some Arnica to your swollen, purple colored eye and forehead and some Aloe Vera to the bullet burn on your shoulder. Next you quickly empty your bag, throwing the clothes in the hamper to be handled later, placing the weapons back in the suitcase and putting all other items back where they belong.

When you lay down in your bed all you want to do is sleep for hours, but the USB driver that you’re twirling over your fingers taunts you until you can’t resist it anymore. You grab your computer from the bedside table, power it up and plug the driver in, opening De Marco’s downloaded emails.

Unsurprisingly, you barely get through half the emails from the first year De Marco and Navarro were in contact, scheming everything, before you feel an unbearable urge to vomit. You scramble out of your room and rush towards the bathroom. You lean over the toilet, retching into it as tears stream down your face, but nothing comes out. You realize it’s because you haven’t eaten in over forty two hours, since lunch on Tuesday. It’s almost one o’clock and you’re sure you could still find someplace open to eat, but instead you go back to your room and bury yourself under the warm, comfortable blankets. A sob wrecks through your body and you bite down harshly on your lip to keep it in.  You reach to open the drawer of your bedside table and grab two worn out pictures out of it. Their corners are bent and a weird maroon color. You lie on your back and stare at the pictures; one of your parents, you, Marco and Giulia from your last birthday that you all spent together and the other of you and Giulia from her last birthday that the two of you spent together.

“I did it… I promised you all I’d do it and it’s done,” you whisper to the pictures and an uncontrollable, agonized sob escapes through your lips.

You fall asleep clutching the pictures while tears wet your pillow and you mumble to the dark, empty room a broken mantra of, _‘I’m sorry I failed you. I’m so sorry I was too late. I couldn’t protect you, I’m so so sorry.’_

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. i’m the one who had to learn to build a heart made of armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angie deals with the aftermath of catching de marco and what it means for her life and her friendships going forward ;
> 
> at the same time she tries to figure out if there's a place for someone like peggy in her future and even if peggy won't end up on the other side of this fight, standing against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it turns out it'll be more of a vigilante AU than i thought in the beginning, so yay!!! 
> 
> also, this chapter is heavily about angie and the friendships in her life, because apparently i'm very emotional about her having people in her life who care deeply about her, probably because we haven't seen much in the actual show. 
> 
> warning: fleeting mention of abuse, but nothing descriptive.
> 
> come talk to me @ paigemcculers on tumblr or @pmcculers on twitter :)

The first thing you’re aware of when you stir half-awake is the throbbing pain all around your left eye. Just a second later the warmth of another body pressed tightly against your back and a heavy arm wrapped around your waist registers. Your whole body tenses, suddenly very awake and alert. But it relaxes soon after you recognize the low, breathy noises being puffed against your ear.

Linda.

It’s not exactly uncommon for the two of you to end up spooning each other in either of your queen sized beds – Linda, more often than not, being the big spoon, even though she’s at least a head shorter than you. It normally follows a night with lots of drinking or a movie night with pizza and ice cream, none of which happened in the last few days because you’ve been too busy working to catch a fugitive criminal who had been lurking in the back of your mind for four years.

You shift slightly, trying to lift your face from the pillow where it is stuck because of the dried tears from yesterday, and Linda’s arm tightens around your waist, hand pressing against your stomach over the tank top you wear to sleep. You can’t feel your right arm after sleeping on top of it for over ten hours, so you shift again, trying to get it out from under you.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’ ‘round, ya asshole. Lemme get some more sleep,” Linda mumbles sleepily from behind you. It makes your lips curl up into a fond grin that you only allow because you know she can’t see it.

“I’m sorry for disturbin’ your beauty sleep on _my_ bed, punk princess,” you remark, sarcasm dripping from your tone. Linda sneaks her hand under your tank top and pinches your stomach for it. “Since we’re on the topic, mind tellin’ me why the hell it is exactly that you’re here spoonin’ me?” you ask, wiggling around again. This time Linda lets go of you with an annoyed sigh and you can finally drag your asleep arm from under your body.

You turn around to face her, fake-annoyed look purposely etched on your face, but your performance is interrupted as soon as your shoulder touches the mattress and you wince at the painful shock that runs all over your arm, having forgotten about your bullet burn. You lean your weight on your forearm so you don’t press either the burn or your swollen face against the bed. It doesn’t help the lingering throbbing in both wounds when your eyes lock with Linda’s and her gaze is soft and worried.

“Well, y’see, when ya get home and find your best friend, who you haven’t seen in almost two days even though you fuckin’ live, work and often spend every minute together, curled up on her bed with pictures of a family whose existence she doesn’t even acknowledge most of the time, her stupid fuckin’ face swollen and purple like someone smashed it against a concrete wall a couple times and a goddamned bullet burn on her shoulder, that shit can make a person worry a lot, so here I am on your damn bed with ya,” Linda rants before stopping to take a deep breath.

The anger and annoyance, that you’re sure are somewhere in there – those being Linda’s default moods –, are overpowered by her palpable concern. The way she shifts closer and her hand reaches for yours under the covers, grabbing it softly, eyes full of a tenderness that’s often hidden behind layers of sarcasm and aloofness, makes you feel as if your heart is being squeezed tightly by a giant hand.

“And now I can add to that the fact that you been cryin’ a lot, ‘cause the other half of your face is also a complete fuckin’ mess.” Her bluntness pulls a chuckle out of your lips and her mouth curls up softly at the sound, even though her eyes still run over your face, carefully searching for something. “Are you okay, babe?” she asks, serious.

Squeezing Linda’s hand, you think the question over because you want to be as truthful as you can with her, considering how concerned she’s clearly been in the last couple of days. Thinking about the weightless feeling you’ve got on your chest now, like the years since high school were very literally weighing you down and you’ve finally started to lift them off your soul; thinking about how the future already appears brighter now that closure seems achievable, it all feels like moving on might finally be a possibility.

“Yeah, I am. I’m pretty great, actually,” you answer with a wide smile. It’s probably the first time in way too long that you’ve said those words and a hundred percent meant them.

Linda eyes you suspiciously, looking for any indication that you’re lying. When she finds none, she nods with a little smile before reaching with her free hand and poking the swollen skin right above your left eyebrow. Shrieking in pain, you slap her hand away with a glare and an indignant, _‘What the fuck?’_

“Glad to hear it, babe, though I can’t say you look even halfway there,” she comments, an annoyingly wide smirk on her face. “We gotta put some ice and cream on the clusterfuck that used to be your face.”

At the same time you want to smack her across the face, you’re glad she’s back to being the asshole you love. The idea that you’ve made Linda worried enough to bring out all the tenderness she usually feels uncomfortable showing makes you feel truly terrible. Plus, the fact that she doesn’t seem to want a lengthy explanation of what’s happened in the last few days  relaxes a little spot in between your shoulder blades that’s been tense since you woke up and realized she was in bed with you.

Linda rolls out of bed, puts her glasses on, grabs her phone from the nightstand and checks it while she walks towards the door, in a t-shirt that barely reaches the top of her thighs, leaving the rest of her tiny, golden brown legs bare. She stops at the doorway and turns back to you.

“C’mon,” she calls. “It’s already noon and Dottie and Carol are bringin’ pizza, get your ass ready.”

You roll out of bed, unsurprised that you’ve slept almost 24 hours and finally recognizing the uncomfortable, gnawing feeling on your stomach as hunger. You’re deeply regretting your decision to neglect eating in favor of sleeping.

“Also…” Linda stalls mid-sentence, right hand absentmindedly tracing the galaxy tattoo that covers her whole shoulder - that she drew herself, just like the rest of her half-sleeve that goes from the top of her left shoulder down to her elbow. You look up at her with arched, questioning eyebrows while shimmying into the red jeans from yesterday. She seems to carefully think her words over as she appraises you. “ _Stuff_ has been runnin’ over the news while you were asleep, especially with your journalist pal, you should check it out,” she rushes out, watching closely for your reaction.

Linda knows your whole story, only because she caught you, a drunken mess, on Giulia’s birthday the first year after she was gone and you ended up dumping it all on her. Which means she knows how important De Marco’s arrest and the reopening of the investigation are for you.

Going for a slightly surprised and curious expression, you nod at her before taking your tank top off. She’s nowhere in sight when you turn back around while clipping your bra on, so you can’t tell if she fell for it or not. You slip a black, loose crop top on, put your hair up in a messy bun and grab your cellphone. There are two messages.

 _‘Go to my twitter or the channel’s website or any fucking news channel ASAP!!! WE DID IT!! XX’_ , from Teresa.

And,

 _‘Ange, we did it! We caught him, we’ve got everything! We’ll stop by on Saturday to see you x’_ , from Ana.

The messages warm your heart and pull a small chuckle from your throat as you exit your room. _We_ , indeed, even if they’ll, hopefully, never know.  

When you walk into the living room, you find Linda seated on the couch - already changed into black ripped jeans and her favorite Harley Quinn tank top that’s two sizes too big for her small frame -, computer on her lap, cup of coffee and ice pack waiting for you at the table. So you steel yourself for what will have to be a fantastic performance. Lying is something that comes easy to you after being part of the high school drama club for years. You were certain you’d go to Theatre School after you graduated; learn more about acting, producing and writing and then pursue an acting career, but then everything went sideways and you ended up wasting your skills working for the mafia. When you were finally free from them, acting was tainted and something you couldn’t enjoy anymore, so you turned to writing and it became the one thing you could truly immerse yourself into. Creating different and better universes helped a lot on coping with your reality.

Now as you sit beside Linda, ice pack pressed against your left eye, to find Teresa’s news channel’s website open in what you assume is the video she recorded yesterday, you’re hit with the headline in bold, striking letters,

_‘EXCLUSIVE: POLICE FUGITIVE, CARLO DE MARCO, FINALLY APREHENDED AFTER FIVE YEARS, ALONG WITH ACCOMPLICE AND NEW EVIDENCE IN MISTERIOUS NON-POLICE WORK’._

Reading the headline over and over, the tears that well up in your eyes are very much real. You were there, you know what happened, you know more than what Teresa was probably allowed to say in this video, still you reach with your free hand to cover your mouth when a small sobs threatens to leave your lips. It is official; it’s out there for the whole world to see. There’s no sweeping anything under the rug this time and there are no words to explain how relieved you feel.

Linda reaches for your free hand and squeezes it tightly, moist eyes once again filled with tenderness and concern as they watch you intently. You nod quietly and she plays the video.

Teresa appears in front of De Marco’s building and you watch as she talks about the anonymous picture and address she received. The picture shows up in the video and she explains that the man in the bed appears to be De Marco and then lists off the charges from which he ran five years ago. Your hand flexes instinctively over Linda’s and she squeezes back, sliding closer to wrap an arm around you when she sees that tears have begun to roll down your cheeks.

In the video, Teresa says she can’t be sure of what it all means because she’s arrived before the police. Barely a second later sirens approach the scene and the camera shows Ana’s car screeching around the corner as Teresa announces that they are there. The screen goes black for a second and then Teresa reappears with Ana by her side, wearing her usual work suit, long, curly, light brown mane of hair shinning under the sun and piercing grey-green eyes able to intimidate anyone, even through the camera lens. The sight of those two trying to act as if they are not as familiar with each other as they actually are makes you crack up and you start laughing through the tears that are still building and falling. Linda smiles tentatively and when you grin back at her, you can feel her whole body relaxing against yours.

Ana explains that she also received the anonymous picture and that it is De Marco in it, as well as other men who, according to evidence they’ve found, were his accomplices. Thanks to the new found evidence, she says, the whole investigation will be reopened and she’ll be personally working with the FBI on it. A relieved sigh escapes through the huge grin on your face. Knowing that Ana will be directly involved in the investigation not only reassures you that it will be well and carefully done, but it also makes you really proud, becoming an FBI Agent was always something she wanted for her future and you hope she takes full advantage of this opportunity.

Ana finishes up by saying the men won’t be questioned for a while since they are all heading to the hospital, having all been shot or beaten in some way, and that they still haven’t found anything related to the person who did this, but security cameras will be examined. After Ana walks away, Teresa explains there isn’t much they can divulge now that won’t corrupt the investigation, but she’ll release anything she can so the people will be kept in the loop.

As soon as the video is over Linda places the computer on the coffee table and turns her attention to you, reclaiming your hand, that’s not holding the ice pack to your face, with both of hers.

“Babe, talk to me,” she pleads softly, reaching to wipe away the trail of tears on your right cheek. You put the ice pack down and turn to look at her with a small grin, realizing you actually do want to talk about this with her.

“I-It’s over,” you star, grin widening. “They got him and he’s gonna rot in prison!” you exclaim and Linda starts grinning, too. “That fuckin’ asshole and what he did have been lurkin’ in the background of my life for the past four years, but now it’s over. I honestly don’t even really know what to do with myself.” A small chuckle leaves your lips and Linda bounces a little bit on the couch, excited.

“Now you get to finally move the fuck on!” she half-shouts, pulling another chuckle out of your lips. “Now you get to do whatever the fuck you want. You can focus on your writin’, on buildin’ your dreams and just…on livin’ without anything holdin’ ya back,” she adds more softly. You smile brightly at her, squeezing her hand. After a beat a smirk pulls at her lips and you’re sure you know what’s coming. “ _Now_ you can continue your teenage-flirtin’ with Miss Suit and Tie or, y’know, finally take it to adult-flirtin’ level.” You groan and pull your hand free from her grip, reaching for your cup of coffee and bringing it to your lips.

“Shut up,” you mumble around the rim of the cup before gulping down the barely warm coffee.

“C’mon,” Linda huffs loudly. “It’s so _obvious_ you are into each other. When was the last time you were really into someone like this? High-school?” she asks and you nod without having to think about it. “See!” she insists, giving you a pointed look. “Why wouldn’t ya go after this? Get over your turtle pace and chase it!” And you know she’s right, you feel drawn to Peggy in a way you don’t really remember ever feeling before. She intrigues you and at the same time makes you feel at ease. She overwhelms you in the most pleasant ways.

“The suit and tie thing works _amazingly_ for her, doesn’t it?” you ask with a growing smirk. Linda widens her eyes and nods frantically. You both burst into laughter just as the door of the apartment bounces open and you turn towards it.

“Family sized pizza for my bitches!” Carol announces as she walks in, Dottie trailing behind her. “You guys won-,” she falters mid-sentence when she enters the living room and takes your face in. “Holy shit, Angie, did someone smash your face against a concrete wall?” Her eyes are wide with horror. You laugh before placing the ice pack back against your eye.

“Somethin’ like that,” you mumble and make grabby hands at the pizza box. “Now get that baby in here ‘cause I’m starvin’.” They walk over and set the pizza box and a bottle of Coke on the coffee table.

You don’t waste any time waiting for napkins and quickly grab a slice of Hawaiian and start eating. The other three glance at each other before following your lead. Dottie and Carol spend the whole time making stupid jokes at the expense of your swollen face that, according to Dottie, looks very much like a Baboon’s purple ass and you laugh until your stomach aches from happiness instead of hunger.

Maybe you’re actually seeing your whole life with new eyes now because until this moment - with Linda spitting Coke on the tiled floor mid-laugh and Carol literally rolling around on the floor laughing while Dottie grins proudly at one of her jokes - you had never realized how lucky you are to have these girls in your life. How proud you are of the little family you’ve all become, even during a time when that was the last thing you wanted. You realize now, that’s what they’ve become to you; family.

It honestly scares the hell out of you, but, as Linda helps get a pepperoni and a piece of pineapple that are stuck in Dottie’s curly blonde hair and Carol walks over and softly applies some Arnica on your battered face, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that Friday the L&L is once again packed and when you finally find Dottie in the crowd, unsurprisingly flirting with a group of girls in one of the couches in the more private area, you wave her over, pointing at the full tray on the counter. Turning to the wall of bottles behind the counter, you start setting up another order.

“Four o’clock, Kate Winslet’s here,” Dottie says quickly before grabbing the tray and leaving. Your friends really need to stop calling Peggy by the name of whatever known English woman that comes to mind.

You turn to look over your right shoulder and there Peggy is, settling down on a stool in her black suit, tie hanging loosely from the collar of her shirt. You shoot her an apologetic look, pointing to the drink you’re making and she just nods with a wide grin.

God, you’ve missed her smile and that dimple.

Hands with black-painted nails grab yours when you turn back to the drink you were making and when you look up Linda nods towards Peggy.

“Go play truth or dare with Hermione there,” she quips and you roll your eyes.

“She’s got a name, y’know.” Linda just waves off your complaint, like you’re an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

Grabbing a sparkling wine and a Guinness, you half-turn towards Peggy raising them in question. She looks suspiciously over your face, as if trying to put her finger on something that’s off, before nodding. You pour the sparkling wine until half the glass is full and then place a spoon upside down on top of the glass and pour the Guinness slowly over it, so the beer settles softly on top of the sparkling wine instead of mixing with it. You place a coaster on the counter before settling the glass in front of Peggy.

“Here ya go, miss,” you say teasingly with a smile and a little bow, but her soft gasp startles you back up.

“Bloody hell, what happened to your face, Angie?” she asks, eyes wide, hand hovering over the counter like she was reaching out to touch your face, but stopped mid-way.

Oh, right, the Baboon ass glued to your face.

It should really tell you something that if you plan to follow Linda’s advice and go forward with whatever it is that is happening with Peggy, it’d all be starting with a lie already. You try to think of something that could maybe pass as a half-lie when Dottie walks up to the counter and the words just rush out of your mouth.

“Oh, Dottie just got in a couple of lucky kicks when we were trainin’ yesterday,” you say dismissively with a little chuckle. Dottie looks up when she hears her name and looks between you and Peggy once before shrugging.

“She always tells me to not hold back and, usually, she can take it, but apparently her left defense’s gotten weak,” Dottie remarks with a wide grin. You’re both glad and saddened by the fact that Dottie’s as good of a liar as you are, because Peggy is looking between the two of you, horrified. She believes you.

“Don’t you two use protective gear?” she asks, baffled.

“Now, what’s the fun in that?” Dottie rebuts with a little wink in your direction before rushing off. You chuckle a bit until you realize Peggy’s glaring at you.

“It’s all good, English, really.” Peggy doesn’t look at all impressed by your reassurance, so you try a different tactic. “In a few days my face will be back to the gorgeous features you remember,” you joke and her lips twitch in a repressed grin.

“I don’t remember there being anything gorgeous about your face,” she says, barely being able to keep a straight face. You place your hand over your heart in mock-hurt and she laughs heartily until something in your right forearm catches her attention. When you realize what, it’s already too late. “You have tattoos?” Peggy asks excitedly, reaching for your arm. You nod as you lean away from her, reaching under the counter to grab your water bottle as an excuse.

“Do you?” you ask her before taking a sip of your bottle, hoping that she’ll just drop it. To your relief she just shakes her head, face contorted in confusion.

“No, always wanted one, though,” she answers warily. You smile, trying to pretend like you didn’t just make everything really awkward because of a few tattoos.

You didn’t even have to tell her what they mean. You could’ve said you just liked them or that you got them when drunk, really, anything. But you guess another lie so soon would make you feel worse than the awkward silence that settles between you two.

She studies you, eyebrows furrowed, before reaching for her suitcase and pulling two books out of it. You feel how much your face lightens up by the excruciating pain on your left eye. Peggy gives you another of those suspicious looks that you’ve been getting a lot when you grimace, but you just wave her off before grabbing a rag and cleaning the counter as thoroughly as you can.

Peggy places both books on the counter and if it wasn’t for the carelessly handled state of the one on the right, you wouldn’t be able to differentiate them. They have the same plain, navy blue cover with the title and your name written in white, cursive letters. Flipping the pages of the one from the library, you see that a lot of them have notes and random things written in the corners, as they usually do. You look up at Peggy, who has been watching you with a small grin, and shoot her a knowing smile before flipping through the brand new copy. As you expected, somehow the people who copied it for Peggy were able to get rid of the notes and the book looks absolutely clean.

“So,” you start, serious. “You said you’re givin’ this _brand_ new one to the library, right?” Peggy’s smile drops and her mouth opens, but no words come out and you can’t hold in the chuckle that tumbles out of your lips. She smiles sheepishly, hand rubbing the right side of her neck.

“I’m afraid I underestimated how careless people can be with books when I said that,” she replies hesitantly. “Do you think they’ll mind if I send back that one?” She’s got such a guilty look on her face that you don’t have it in yourself to tease her about it.

“They’ll think you’re crazy if you show up with a whole new book instead of the old one,” you say with certainty. For your surprise Peggy smirks widely then and pulls a third book from her suitcase.

“I suppose there are worse things to be,” she remarks. You stare wide-eyed at her before reaching for the third book and, as you imagined, it’s another brand new, clean copy.

“You got a second copy done for the library?” you ask, astonished. Peggy smiles sheepishly again as she nods and now you can see the difference between the real one and the one she used to play you before. The left corner of her mouth doesn’t lift completely and her eyes have a very specific softness around them.

Why does she have to be such a wonderful human? Why can’t she just have a gigantic, deal breaker flaw to make you feel less guilty about lying and keeping things from her?

“If you don’t mind expanding your signing session to three books?” she asks, handing you what looks like a very fancy pen. You actually rub your hand against your jeans, just in case, before smiling widely at Peggy and grabbing it.

She watches, sipping her drink, as you write the same message in the two books that’ll go back to the library,

_‘From a once Little Italy kid, just like you,_

_with hope that these pages will be able to transport you to different dimensions, like they did for me while writing them. Love, Angela Martinelli.’_

After you sign the books, Peggy quickly places them back into her suitcase, afraid she’ll end up spilling something on them. When you open Peggy’s book, however, you freeze. A million different thoughts on what to write, rushing through your mind. Bouncing the pen against the counter, you look up to find Peggy watching you eagerly. You narrow your eyes at her before shielding the page from her eyes with your right arm as you start writing.

_‘To the most beautiful, generous, wonderful and intriguing woman I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Hopefully these pages will be able to help you distance yourself from this crazy world whenever you feel the need to._

_I’m thankful for fate – shaped as an asshole who missed an incredible date - that led you to the L &L so we could meet. _

_With much affection, Angie.’_

You paused for a few seconds, debating the implications of ending the message with ‘With much love’, but in the end ‘affection’ seemed like a much safer bet.

Signing it, you close the book and slide it towards Peggy. She rushes to wipe her hand in a napkin and then open the book to read your message. The further she reads the brighter her smile becomes and you feel your heart fluttering softly around your chest.

Peggy runs the tip of her finger softly around the page and then looks up at you with the softest smile and you think that, yeah, you definitely want to take this forward, to the next level, whatever it is.

You just want more of Peggy in your life.

After securing her own book inside the suitcase with the others, she looks back up at you. Her eyes flicker to something behind you, just a little above your head, and her whole face turns stone hard. She scoffs aggressively and when you turn around, you realize the TV hanging from the wall was the cause for her strong reaction. The news headline reads, _‘Responsible for Carlo De Marco’s arrest still unidentified’_ , and a small grin tugs at your lips. You turn back around to find Peggy coldly glaring at the TV and you frown in confusion.

“You okay, Peg?” She turns her glare to you, the hard edges of her face softening slightly when she sees your taken aback expression.

“I just cannot believe the police have not found a single thing about the criminal responsible for this,” she huffs out indignantly. A cold feeling spreads upwards from your stomach right away.

“ _Criminal?_ ” It’s Peggy’s turn to look surprised and confused by your question.

“Yes, criminal, of course,” she confirms without hesitation. “Don’t you think what this person did, acting as if they’re above the law and can do what they want, is the act of a criminal?” she asks with a tone that tells you, clearly, what she expects your answer to be.

You’re not at all sorry to disappoint her, but that fluttering feeling on your chest dissipates as if swept away by the cold that’s reached your chest.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” you reply firmly. Her eyes narrow immediately. “What _I_ think is that this person did the job the police was supposed to do but apparently couldn’t an–“

“Exactly! It was the police’s job! A person can’t just go and tie other people up because they want to!” she exclaims, voice getting louder and face full of disdain. “As if we don’t have enough with that crazy Devil of Hell’s Kitchen or whatever nonsense they are calling the guy now!” You take a deep breath to calm yourself and not shout back at her.

“First of all, those are two completely different things. And while I don’t completely agree with ya on the crazy part,” you start. She huffs in disbelief, but you ignore it. “That guy decides who is guilty of what while _this_ person went after a known criminal wanted by the police. They had four years to catch this guy, Peggy, and they did a shit ton of nothin’ about it. I, for one, am glad somebody finally did somethin’.” She looks at you as if she doesn’t recognize you, like she has no idea who you are anymore.

You suppose she never really did, at all. A weight settles over your heart when you realize you were probably doing the right thing by keeping yourself from her.  

“Three of those men were shot in the kneecaps, Angie! And all of them were beaten in some way! THAT’S ASSAULT!” she half-shouts, hands slamming against the counter.

A few people glance over at the two of you, including Linda and Carol who are trading trays in the counter. You shake your head subtly at them and they go on with their business. Taking another calming, deep breath, you lean over the counter towards Peggy, so you can talk with a bit more privacy.

“Do you know why De Marco was a wanted man, Peggy?” you ask her calmly. She opens her mouth to answer, but you continue before she can. “Five years ago he started kidnappin' li’l’ girls, ages ten to fifteen. He’d beat them, abuse them and if they didn’t fit the profile he wanted, or if they were too capable of fighting back, he’d kill 'em,” you explain. You don’t try to keep the disgust out of your voice, but work hard to keep your face calm. “He did it for almost a whole year, _all over_ Brooklyn, before he was caught.” Realization settles over Peggy’s face quickly. “And one of the other men, Navarro, he would keep the girls locked up and train 'em for whatever they would have to do after bei-“

“How do you know that?” Peggy asks, eyes narrowed, and you freeze. “How do you know that was his involvement if the journalists have not said anything and the police have not released a statement about those men yet?”

“I have my contacts,” you answer, dismissively.

“So do I. My father is a Senator, my brother is a CIA Agent and still I didn’t hear a single thing about it,” she hisses.

‘Of course. Of course her brother would be a fucking CIA Agent, Jesus Christ!’ you think, because you would be this lucky.

“Not my fault your contacts suck,” you deadpan. She scowls, but, before she can interrupt, you continue. “My point is I am not sorry for how it happened. I’m just glad someone finally caught them and the families of all those girls will finally have some justice and closure now, since they can’t have their little girls back.”

“I understand, Angie, I do,” she assures, face and voice softened. You barely restrain yourself from scoffing in her face. “But the world can’t work like this, people deciding the law doesn’t apply to them and taking justice in their hands. Can you imagine if everyone did that?” she asks and you realize there’s clearly no point in further arguing this.

And you know she isn’t completely wrong either, but never before has it been so clear how incredibly different the two of you are at the core.

“You really don’t, English,” you start softly. “But I suppose Linda will stop cursin’ at every five words before you agree with me about somethin’,” you try lightening the mood, but Peggy’s face remains serious as she studies you.

“Or vote for a goddamn Republican Senator, which is even less fuckin’ likely,” Linda quips bitingly from beside you. You turn to glare at her, but she just shrugs her shoulders and moves to the other end of the counter.

“Sorry,” you say as you turn back to Peggy. To your surprise she’s grinning.

“It’s quite alright,” she stars before leaning forward. “ _I_ didn’t vote for my father in the last election either,” she whispers, pulling a chuckle from your lips. She smiles back tentatively and you can see she wants to address the discussion you just had and what you meant when you said she doesn’t understand. You’re afraid to where that discussion will lead, so you say the first thing you can think of.

“How come your father is American and you’re English, English?” you ask. Peggy studies you for a second before a little grin appears on her face.

“I have a dual citizenship, actually. My mother was English,” she explains and her use of past tense makes you regret asking. And yet, Peggy seems very calm talking about it. “I was born here, but my parents got divorced when I was around two and my mother took me and my brother back to England with her. She died when I was fifteen, from cancer, and we came back to live with my father.” You reach forward, covering her hand softly with yours. She doesn’t pull away from your touch and you realize how afraid you were that she would.

“I am so sorry about your ma, honey,” you offer and she squeezes your hand in appreciation.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I had enough time with her to prepare myself. We talked a lot about what life would be like after she’d be gone, that helped a lot,” she explains with a loving smile.

A pang of envy hits you. You wish you could’ve had that moment with your family. Wish you weren’t absolutely blindsided by each and all of them being gone. Maybe it would have been easier to move on if you had some time _before_ it happened.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I only came to bring the books and to see you,” she says, pulling you out of your thoughts. Your heart stutters against your ribcage at her admission and you can’t stop the wide grin on your lips. “I’ll come back tomorrow night. My office partners have been pestering me to go out with them, so I suggested we come here.” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Peggy grins knowingly with a shrug of her shoulders. “The bartender and the wonderful Black Velvet she makes are worth the trouble of getting them all the way here.”

“Even when her face looks like a Baboon’s purple ass is glued to it?” you ask and a bubbly, full-body laugh leaves Peggy’s lips. You’ll have to thank Dottie for that one later.

She reaches forward, cupping your jaw as her thumb runs softly just under your swollen eye. At her touch your heart gallops inside your chest, your breath catches in your throat and you’re sure everyone can see how all the skin exposed by your crop top is full of goosebumps.

“Even then,” she answers sweetly before shooting you a teasing grin. “But I do remember how gorgeous your face is under that huge hematoma, so that helps.” You honestly feel like you might get a bruised rib from how hard your heart seems to be beating. The blood is rushing fast through your brain, making it seem like there’s a second and third hearts beating in each of your ears. You end up just smiling dumbly at her for a few seconds until she leans in to place a soft kiss on your right cheek, a little too close to the corner of your mouth for it to be seen as just friendly. “See you tomorrow and I expect no new injuries,” she warns and she sounds like she’s only half joking.

“Bye,” you say, nodding stupidly as you watch her strut away. The suit pants hugging her legs and backside in the most wonderful way.

“So you finally found bad qualities to trump how good she looks in that suit, huh?” Linda asks, sliding in beside you.

“What do ya mean? What bad qualities?” She looks at you like you’re the most stupid person in the world, but she looks at almost everyone like that, so you don’t take much offense anymore.

“Her whole family works for the government in some degree and she’s a righteous, goody two-shoes,” she deadpans, like it was the most obvious thing.

“You gotta stop listenin’ in on other people’s conversations,” you warn Linda before starting to prepare a new order that came in.

“I’m a bartender and you two were talkin’ over _my_ counter, it’s my job to listen in,” she rebuts with a scoff. You turn towards her so she can see how hard you roll your eyes. 

“Since when are bein’ righteous and believin’ in the law bad qualities, anyway?” you ask her after a beat. “Just because they are qualities _we_ don’t have?” Linda gives you another pointed look that you can’t quite decipher this time.

“You’re righteous, too,” she affirms. “We just don’t have this unwaverin' belief in the law 'cause we know, _empirically_ , that it is naïve to think the justice system treats everyone equally.” With another pointed look and a soft squeeze to your arm, she walks through the door to the back room that connects the counter and the register box to attend the costumers heading towards it.

You know Linda is right, but you also believe that Peggy does work to try and use this bent system in favor of the people who are usually mistreated by it. She has to believe in it or at least believe she can still find ways to use it for the good.

It’s not Peggy’s fault you have seen too much to still have that same belief, but it does make you question whether you two belong in each other’s lives or not.

 

* * *

 

 

Saturdays are usually a whole other experience at the L&L. The more private area with the couches becomes a small stage and mostly unknown, local bands or singers are hired to play. As the bar became more popular in the area there was some extra money in the monthly budget and it was quickly decided it would be redirected to do something different at least once per week. Live music was the unanimous decision and for two years now, every Saturday, someone different comes to play. It means the bar is packed with new faces as friends and fans of the artists come to watch them play – it consequently means more opportunities for new people to know the bar exists, which is the only reason Howard agreed to it.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, but the stage is almost ready. You and Linda are just helping Carol install the extension cords necessary when Linda looks up and proceeds to very literally trip on her own feet in her haste to stand up. You catch her easily before looking to the entrance to see what caused your aloof best friend to have such a strong reaction. A small laugh leaves your lips when you see Ana and Teresa walking towards you and in the corner of your eye Linda straightening her plaid shirt and fixing her hair. It’s not a secret to any of you that Linda has always had the biggest crush on Ana and that they have been dancing around each other for years. Every time Ana comes to the bar Linda turns into the most embarrassing mess you’ve ever seen.

Patting her back softly, you step out of the little stage and walk to meet Teresa and Ana half-way. They’ve both got enormous smiles on their faces to match your own and they engulf you in a tight three-way hug as soon as you’re at arm’s length. You kiss each of their cheeks when they let you go and try to pull them towards the counter. Ana, however, lets go of your hand to greet Carol and Linda with quick hugs, Teresa following right after her. You can see very clearly, from over Ana’s shoulder, the way Linda’s eyes flutter closed and the softest smile appears on her lips while Ana wraps her arms around her. Carol giggles, amused, and you try to suppress your laugh; Linda glares at both of you when Ana turns towards Carol. Moving to the quieter end of the counter, you start setting up nine tequila shots and wait for them to follow you.

“What, no pencil skirts and work suits today?” you ask Teresa and Ana as they get settled on the stools in front of you a couple of minutes later. Teresa, in her black jeans, boots, a button-up shirt and a blazer, and Ana, in blue jeans, sneakers, a top and a cardigan, are not sights that you’re used to since they usually come directly from work when they visit.

“We decided such a special celebration deserved non-work clothes,” Ana remarks and you smile appreciatively. Seeing them in their fancy suits in the bar always made you feel a little bit inappropriate, even though they always treated you like nothing short of an equal.

“What about ya? Decided to bring a different face to this celebration?” Teresa asks in her thick Southern accent, pointedly looking at your swollen left eye.

“Tryin’ new things,” you reply with a shrug.

“Well, you look terrible, keep the old face.” A loud laugh is the only response you can muster, used to Teresa’s bluntness after four years of dealing with it.

Ana rolls her eyes as she smiles fondly at the two of you before raising the first tequila shot. You and Teresa mirror her eagerly.

“To getting a promotion and being a nominee for the Courage in Journalism Award,” Ana toasts and you look at Teresa, surprised. She shrugs immodestly and you all laugh. You hit the glasses on the counter and down the shots before grabbing the next ones.

“To finally winning the chance to work with the big FBI guys and start the path to become the best damn Agent in this country,” Teresa follows and Ana’s cheeks turn a bright pink as she hits the counter softly with her glass and downs the shot. You and Teresa share fond smiles before mirroring her and the three of you grab the last shot.

“To finally gettin’ that son of a bitch behind bars, findin’ some closure and gettin’ on with our lives,” you finish up and you all clink your glasses together before gulping the tequila down.

After taking away the shot glasses, you grab their usual beers and smile thankfully when Linda shows up to manage the counter for you.

“So, tell us, how are ya really, honey?” Teresa asks, taking a swig of her beer. You’ve only seen her look this serious, outside of work, once in the last four years and that was when Ana got shot in the leg during an operation. So you know she’s genuinely worried.  

“Very happy that he’s gonna rot in prison with all the evidence there is against him,” you start and Teresa’s face relaxes into a grin. “Confident that the reopened investigation will find everyone involved in this,” Ana raises her beer at you with a small grin that you genuinely return. “And excited for all the possibilities my life is open to, now that we’ve closed this nightmare of a chapter.” They smile softly at you and Teresa leans forward to pinch your cheek. You roll your eyes at her, but you know that if it wasn’t for these two you would have nothing.

There would be no evidence on De Marco. You would still be wondering, to this day, what really happened to Giulia. Auto-destruction would have probably been your path if Teresa hadn’t taken you to talk to her girlfriend, Beth, who became your therapist. And if Ana had not brought you to the L&L to meet Linda, finding a job would have been a lot more difficult and you would not have built the little family you have with the girls here.

“Your turn,” you start with a pointed look towards Ana. “How's the investigation _really_ goin’?”

“The Trafficking of Underage Women case is developing well,” she answers vaguely as she looks around to make sure there’s nobody too close, even though it’s still early and the bar is mostly empty.

“What a pompous name,” Teresa remarks with an approving nod.

“Sadly I won’t be able to pass on your compliment to the FBI agents responsible for it because you didn’t hear about this from me,” Ana deadpans with a roll of her eyes and you and Teresa burst into laughter. “We’ll finally get to officially interrogate De Marco and the other men tomorrow about what happened on Thursday.”

“So you still don't know anythin’ ‘bout the person who got ‘em?” you ask.

“ _Woman_ who got ‘em,” Teresa corrects without even trying to repress her giant grin and you have to fight hard against your own.

“Yes, it was a woman, it's all we know so far from the street cameras,” Ana adds, much more successfully repressing the grin you can hear in her voice. “And that we should be thanking her, because the evidence she left all ready for us is amazing,” she continues. You have to refrain from grinning proudly, put on an interested face and pretend you have no idea what this evidence is.

It makes you feel kind of bad, lying to them, but you know if you told them the truth they’d have to choose between turning you in or jeopardizing their careers. You would never put them in that situation; they are amazing women who do not deserve that. And you owe them too much.

“Of the other names we found, we've been able to track three of them to places in the city and,” Ana pauses, pulling the sleeve of her cardigan up to check her watch. “They should be receiving their arrest warrants anytime now.” Teresa woops loudly and raises her hand for a high five that you’re quick to give her. Ana laughs softly with a shake of her head. “Others, we found, were out of the country, but the respective authorities have been alerted and, as soon as they’re found, agents will bring them in.” Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from happiness and you’ve never felt more accomplished in your life.

If you never amount to anything else, if you don’t get to publish a book or do anything else important, you feel like it won’t really matter. This right here is the most important thing you could have done in your life, even if no one will ever know.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, the band is settling in the stage and the bar is packed, full of people already cheering the recently high school graduated teenagers on the stage, when Teresa finishes her third bottle and stands up.

“Alright, my loves, it’s been wonderful and we should definitely do it again soon, but I have a date with my gorgeous girlfriend and I need to sober up a bit before it,” she announces with a bright smile before turning to Ana. “Leaving, too?”

Ana actually freezes for a second, but then her eyes focus on something behind your shoulder and she straightens up, face set in determination.

“Actually,” she takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna go talk to Linda.” You share a surprised look with Teresa before you both turn to Ana with huge smiles.

“Really?! _Finally?!_ ” you ask, excited, and she gives one curt nod.

“Everything is on the right track at work, I’ve got just the right amount of alcohol in my system,” Ana lists off, nodding along to her own pep talk. “I’m feeling bold.” You laugh delightedly and she shoots you a bright grin before standing up just as Carol stops beside her.

“Amy Winehouse is in with two _really_ hot male specimens,” she whispers in a rushed tone with a wink before walking away. You roll your eyes at her back anyway.

At some point they have to run out of British women’s names and start using Peggy’s, right?

Teresa and Ana turn to the entrance at the same time you do and you all watch as Peggy walks towards a free table with the two men and it’s the first time you’ve seen her not wearing a suit. Your throat is absolutely dry at the sight of her, prancing through the tables on top of her black high heels that match the blazer she’s wearing over a tight, red dress. Her dark brown hair is falling down in waves around her face and it’s the first time you’ve seen it not up in a bun. It surprises you how long it is, the tips reaching down to the generous cleavage of her dress. 

Your heartbeat skyrockets when she looks up, after settling down on a table, and your eyes lock. Red lips and white teeth smile dazzlingly at you as she waves. She turns to her office partners after you wave back dumbly, still in a haze.

“Jesus fuck,” Teresa blurts out and you turn to find both her and Ana watching Peggy with mouths wide open. With one look around you realize Peggy has turned many, if not all, heads. You imagine that must be a frequent occurrence. “Ya finally feeling _bold_ , too, Angie?” she asks, turning to you with shiny, mischievous eyes.

“I wish I was,” you answer with a deep sigh. “I can’t seem to be able to share _anythin’_ ‘bout my life with her ‘cause it all leads back to Giulia.” Teresa and Ana shoot you soft, understanding smiles and reach to grab each of your hands. “And I’m definitely not ready to talk ‘bout that.”

“She’ll understand that, Ange,” Ana assures with a soft grin.

“Can it ever work, though?” you muse out loud, shaking your head softly. “With so many hidden things and lies told to keep ‘em that way?”

You know they can’t give you an answer to that, even if their sympathetic expressions scream that they really wish they could, so you force a grin onto your lips.

“Now, you” you glance at Teresa. “You go to your date and send Beth all my love. And,” you turn towards Ana and your grin widens genuinely. “You go talk to Linda. And please, _please_ , ask her out, okay? It’s been four years of us watching you two make puppy eyes at each other.” Ana blushes furiously and Teresa laughs at her before kissing both of your cheeks and leaving.

“Hey,” Ana calls as you’re about to turn around and you give her your undivided attention. “You said yourself that you’re looking forward to all the possibilities in your life now that the nightmare is mostly over. If you like that woman, don’t shut that possibility out.” She gives you such a sisterly smile that something tugs very warmly and painfully at your heart. She then leans over the counter to pull you into a warm, comforting hug, places a kiss against your cheek and walks, back in a rigid line and head held high, to the other end of the counter where Linda is.

Not even five whole minutes later, Peggy’s smooth, breathy voice reaches your ears and you don’t know if it’s the image of her tonight that is still embedded in your brain, but she sounds even more sensual than usual.

“Hello, darling,” she calls and your heart stutters against your rib cage. You turn around to find her leaning over the counter, her cleavage showing more than your poor, lesbian heart can take, judging by its thunderous beating.

“Hi,” you mumble, working hard to keep your eyes fixed on her face and not let them wander. It doesn’t help the unhealthily fast beating of your heart how entrancing her chocolate brown eyes and full, red lips are.

She’s smiling widely, extremely pleased by your reaction.

“I’m pleased to see you bear no new injuries and that you’re already looking much better,” she remarks more softly, but the look in her eyes remains the most sensual thing you’ve ever seen. Peggy clearly came to make a statement tonight and you’re hearing her loud and clear.

“And you look,” you start, pausing for a beat as your eyes travel over her face, around her defined jawline and down to her slightly protuberant collarbones before shooting back up with a deep breath. “You look incredible, English.” Her wolfish smile softens a bit as she tugs on her blazer.

“Thank you,” she says before leaning forward and whispering. “Are you sure I’m not too overdressed?” With a small laugh and a shake of your head you give her a pointed look.

“Believe me, you’re perfect,” you assure her. And she seems to believe you if the confident smirk on her face is any indication.

A muffled, small shriek followed by laughter catches your attention and you follow the sound to Linda and Ana on your left. Linda’s got a hand covering her mouth and is laughing behind it while Ana laughs openly as she holds her other hand. A smile tugs at your lips and you hope against all odds that after stalling for so many years, the timing is finally right for those two.

“Isn’t that Detective Muller, the lead detective on De Marco’s case?” Peggy asks and you turn to look at her. She’s watching you attentively with suspicious, narrowed eyes and you work hard against your sudden dry throat to swallow some saliva. “And wasn’t the gorgeous, African-American woman that left, the lead journalist who gets all the exclusives on the case, Teresa…Campbell or something?" The blood is rushing loudly against your ears and you try to calm your heart so you can think over the loud sound.

“It’s the Traffickin’ of Underage Women case now,” you quip with a teasing grin, but Peggy’s face remains stoic. “And I’m sorry to say Teresa is very much taken,” you try again and receive the same response.

Well, so much for how well this night was going.

“And, yes, that’s ‘em,” you confirm with a deep sigh.

“So, _they_ are your contacts?” she asks, disapproval exuding from her tone and her eyes and the curl of her lips. Her accusation, even if it is the truth, makes your body tense up defensively.

“Are ya implyin’ that an esteemed detective and a renowned journalist, who are legally not allowed to disclosure information about this investigation, are just babblin’ up ‘bout it to me, Peggy?” She’s clearly taken aback by your harsh reaction, but she holds her ground.

“How do you know _both_ of them then?” She uses the same accusatory tone and it’s starting to get on your nerves, so you take a deep breath to try and relax your tense posture. It’s not her fault she knows close to nothing about you, which leaves everything pretty much up to her imagination.

“We’re old acquaintances,” you reply evenly, holding her gaze in a clear stare down.

“How did you meet them?” Still the same tone and you can see where this is going so you try to keep it from getting there the only way you know how.

“It’s my turn to pledge the too personal past to share,” you joke, but it falls flat even for your ears.

Peggy scoffs loudly, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. She pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers while taking deep breaths to calm down and you steel yourself for whatever is coming next. Because you know whatever it is, if Peggy’s reaction is any indication, it won’t be good.

“Listen,” she says after almost a whole minute of silence, finally looking up at you. “I’m a woman who likes to maintain personal things to myself and some selected people, so I understand your reluctance to share certain things about your life and I respect it.” She pauses to think her words carefully and you want to believe that’s it, you want to believe she can accept that every personal thing is _too_ personal in your life.

You know better.

“But it’s really hard to get to know someone when they share absolutely nothing about their lives and about who they are,” she continues, voice deflated, and you glance down, biting your trembling lip. “And I thought this wanting-to-get-to-know- each-other deal was mutual, but I’m beginning to think I was wrong.” You want to scream, want to tell her she’s not wrong. That you want to keep getting to know her, but you know you can’t. Not when you can’t give her anything. You can’t even look her in the eyes now. “Was I wrong, Angie?” she asks with just a slight wobble in her voice.

You’re a coward, you decide. You physically can’t make your eyes look up at her and you don’t know what to tell her, so you just shrug your shoulders. A shuddering intake of breath from Peggy registers in your brain and tugs at your heart before you hear her heels clicking on the floor as she walks away. Then your stupid, dumb eyes finally glance up to watch her stomping through the tables until she reaches her office partners and throws herself on a chair. She grabs a drink from the table and downs it in one go before saying something, certainly unpleasant, to the blond guy when he protests her stealing his drink.

A beat after Peggy’s gone , Linda, Carol and Dottie appear out of nowhere, as if they had sprouted from the ground.

“You should tell her,” Linda says as they settle around you in a circle with concerned gazes.

“Tell her _what_?” you ask, giving Linda a pointed look. She immediately rolls her eyes.

“Well, from her reaction yesterday, I certainly don’t mean tell her that you were the one to take De Marco and those guys down,” she replies matter-of-factly. Your heart stops and you hold your breath as you look at each of them. They’re all giving you creepily similar, pointed looks that are a testament to how much time all of you spend together.

“Wha-what?” you ask and they are the most unconvincing words you’ve ever spoken in your life.

“Dude,” Dottie starts with a patronizing tone. “Outta nowhere you announce you’re not gonna be around and then disappear for a couple days without even taking yo’ phone with ya. Then Thursday every news channel is going crazy with news of De Marco’s arrest, we go up to see if you’re back and suddenly there ya are with a swollen face, a bullet burn and holding pictures of who, Linda says, are yo’ family,” she finishes with the same pointed look still in her face. Your head is spinning and you feel a little sick.

“Then when we see your state, I decide I should be a good friend and get your laundry done, like we always do for each other, because I know how much better you feel with freshly clean clothes,” Linda continues after Dottie, as if this is the most common conversation you’ve ever had. “And I find those fuckin’ weird black clothes and mask that I’d never seen before. It was a dead giveaway, really.” You can feel the color draining from your face and Dottie and Carol slide up beside you and grab you when your knees start wobbling.

“Look, we’re not idiots, we can add two plus two,” Carol says, much more softly than the other two.

“And I never even told ‘em ‘bout the bike I scored ya,” Dottie pipes in with a huge smile.

A thousand thoughts are rushing through your mind and you try to focus so you can get at least one of them out.

“You guys knew then?” you ask, looking between Carol and Dottie. “About Giulia? You looked into me?” You want to feel annoyed, but the unexpected announcement that your friends know what you did still has you shaking with fear and surprise. They’re being really cool about it now, but, _God_ , they must be thinking you’re a bad person, a criminal. Just like Peggy did.

 _Well, not Dottie, Dottie must be feeling oddly proud’_ , you think.

“What? Like ya didn’t dig up stuff ‘bout us when we started working here?” Dottie asks with a scoff. And, of course, she’s not wrong.

“Some habits die hard,” Carol remarks with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders.

“Listen,” you start, trying to get your scrambled thoughts in order. “You guys can’t go ‘round talkin’ ‘bout this, alright? I know it was a sketchy thing an-“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Linda cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. “It was really fuckin’ cool what ya did, alright, but you can’t use that awful mask ever again.” She shakes her head with a disgusted face before it suddenly lightens up like it rarely does – it reminds you of when you got her that case full of art supplies for Christmas and she almost cried of happiness. “Oh! Oh!” she exclaims, bouncing a little on her feet. “You should totally let me draw you a costume!”

“Oh, that would be awesome!” Dottie pipes in, eyes wide in excitement. “Look I can get ya some top notch body armor. Like super resistant, but also light and we can get yo’ costume made with that. It’ll be like so much better than that old shit ya used!” She’s nodding her head wildly and you’re just very confused, because, what is happening?

“You must have seen in your snooping around that I retired my _work_ computer,” Carol says, again more calmly than the other two, but you can see the way her eyes are gleaming. “But I could totally get it back into shape to help you look stuff up and find people an- oh! Oh!” her voice gets all high-pitched and she grabs enthusiastically at your right arm and Linda’s left. “I can totally set up a secure line of communication so we can help you from here when you’re out there.” Linda and Dottie let out little excited noises and nod their heads in agreement.

“Wait, what?!” you ask, raising your hands in confusion. “What the hell are ya guys talkin’ ‘bout? Costume, body armor, secure line of communication?”

“For when you go catch the next bad guy!” Carol exclaims like it’s the most obvious thing and you should have known it.

“That’s not happenin', guys,” you tell them with a shake of your head and a short laugh. “I’m not some sort of damn superhero or vigilante or whatever. That was a one-time thing.” Their shoulders sag down like they are forcefully deflated balloons. Dottie actually pouts and Linda’s got a scowl on her face.

“Oh, alright,” Carol says, squeezing your arm softly. “Still, it was an amazing thing you did, Angie. You effectively helped make the world a safer and better place. We’re really proud of you.” She pulls you into a hug and your eyes well up instantly.

Because they understand why you did it. They think you should _keep_ doing it. They still love you.

Dottie pats the top of your head and pinches your nose affectionately after Carol lets you go and they both get back to work.

“And I meant you should tell her ‘bout Giulia,” Linda says, grabbing your hand. “Not the whole damn story, just _somethin’_.” She stares you down sternly. “Don’t let the first woman I’ve ever seen you crush on this hard walk away. Or I’ll rub how fuckin’ incredible my first date with Ana will be on your face.” Her voice is firm but a shy grin pulls at her lips.

“You’ll do that anyway and I’ll happily listen to it,” you tell her with a teasing grin. “I’m glad you two finally got your shit together.” You pull her into a one-armed hug and press a kiss against the crown of her head.

“You deserve to be happy, too, babe,” she whispers against your neck, before pulling away.

You hope she’s right.

 

* * *

 

 

At around one am the band is finally putting their instruments away and most people are already heavily intoxicated. There are two guys at the counter who have been talking to a couple of girls, to their clear discomfort, for a few minutes now. You and Dottie shared an understanding look right after they approached the girls and you’ve both been keeping a look on their interaction since then. After everything that happened with Peggy earlier your body has been buzzing with pent-up energy and you’re just waiting for those guys to give you a reason to step in.

The opportunity arises when they ask the girls to leave with them and when they say they don’t want to, both men reach to grab each of the girls’ arms. You’re rushing out of the counter before you can even think it through. Dottie already has the other guy kneeling on the floor by the time you reach yours. You grab the arm that’s still holding the girl in place and sink your fingers into his flesh. When he lets go of the girl with a yelp, you twist his arm and bend it against his back before delivering a well-placed kick down against the back of his knee. By the time you’ve got your guy on a headlock, the one Dottie took down is screaming some obscenities at her and the whole bar is watching you.

“The ladies said they didn’t wanna leave with the two of ya, cave-men.” You tighten your hold in your guy when he starts squirming. “So I suggest ya learn that ‘no’ means fuckin’ ‘ _no’_ , leave ‘em alone, get the fuck outta here and never come back, got it?” They both nod quickly and Dottie’s guy looks like he might be in a lot of pain. The two of you only let them go when the two walls that work as security guys show up to take them out.

While they’re being escorted out the whole bar rises in cheers. Your eyes meet with Peggy’s through the crowd and she looks in absolute awe. When she realizes you’re staring at each other, she’s quick to look away. Taking a deep breath, you put on your most rigid expression before addressing the crowd.

“We got no place in this bar for misogynistic assholes who don’t know how to respect women,” you tell them, coolly. “If ya don’t understand what ‘no’ means and try to force yourself on someone _that_ is how we’ll handle ya. Be warned.” You’re met with Dottie’s raised hand and a huge smile when you turn back around towards the counter. With a small grin you high five her raised hand and she laughs joyfully.

When you’re back behind the counter, you see Peggy heading towards the doors with the blond guy while her other office partner walks towards the register, slightly favoring his right leg. He looks up and smiles awkwardly at you when he passes by and you return it as best as you can.

It’s not like you’re exactly surprised she left without talking to you again, your shrug and lack of an answer to her question had to have been hurtful. You know it’s still hurting _you_. And the buzzing feeling in your body, now that it’s been pumped with some adrenaline, is so strong that you’re kind of glad she did. You doubt you’d be able to hold it all in if another confrontation happened.

After you leave the L&L a couple of hours later, you get changed quickly, put your headphones on and go straight to your boxing bag. You punch it and punch it until the buzzing feeling is gone and you’re sure you can’t possibly stay awake any longer.

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday morning, the sunlight is shining brightly through the high windows and into the living room and Dottie’s snores are ringing loudly around the room when you step out of your bedroom. She and Carol had come up with you, after you had closed the L&L, to hang out while Linda was on her date with Ana and they ended up sleeping over on the sofa-bed.

You’re on your second cup of coffee when Linda exits her own bedroom and goes straight to the bathroom. A minute later, as Carol rolls out of the sofa-bed, stretching up her back muscles, Linda leaves the bathroom and they both come to sit with you on the kitchen counter. Linda’s got a huge smile on her face that usually never appears before she’s had at least three big cups of coffee and it’s hardly ever that bright.

“Someone got in late this morning,” you sing-song while pouring some coffee for both of them. Linda turns that creepily wide smile to you while she grabs her cup, sipping on it without saying a word. “C’mon, how was it?” you ask eagerly, leaning over the counter towards her.

“It was,” she starts with a dreamy sigh. “Way better than I could’ve imagined.” Carol _‘Aw’_ s and you just keep smiling happily at her. “We ate some great Mexican food and Ana teared up at the spicy sauce. Then we saw a really nerdy, French movie that she wouldn’t shut up ‘bout afterwards and we just hung out and it was the most fun I’ve ever had on a date.”

“We’re so happy for you, hon,” Carol says as she wraps her arms around Linda’s neck, giving her a tight squeeze before letting go. You just keep on staring at her and when she looks at you, you raise an eyebrow pointedly.

“And,” Linda says with the sappiest grin you’ve ever seen in her face. “She kisses like it’s supposed to overwhelm all your senses and it does.” Carol hollers loudly and Linda wiggles her eyebrows suggestively while you laugh at their antics. “She’s the best damn kisser I’ve probably ever kissed.”

“She would have to be with those bee-stung, plump lips,” Dottie pipes in between a yawn as she gets out of the sofa-bed and makes her way over. Linda nods in agreement and you push a full cup of coffee in Dottie’s direction.

Dottie makes you all some omelet and bacon for brunch and Linda, true to her word, rubs how perfect her date was on all of your faces. But she looks so happy and excited that you don’t really have it in you to be upset at all.

You’re all in various states of sitting and laying on the open sofa-bed, enjoying the freedom a closed L&L allows you when your phone rings with a new message.

 _‘Hello, Angie. I’m down here at the bar, would it be okay if I came up to talk to you at your apartment for a moment?’_ It’s Peggy. Peggy is down there, wanting to talk to you after radio silence since Saturday. You rush to your bedroom at the same time you try to type a reply.

 _‘Hi! Of course, back door must be open. Come right up.’,_ you send as you jump into some denim shorts and shrug into a loose plaid shirt. This time you actually write down on a post-it that you need to buy some more bolts and locks for the back door before leaving your room.

A knock sounds on the door just as you’re walking back, still buttoning your shirt up. You wave the girls off when they look up and jog to the door. You’re surprised to find Peggy in full defense attorney mode when you open the door. Perfectly pressed pencil skirt, white shirt and blazer, hair up in a bun and suitcase in hand. Not that it doesn’t make sense, she must be in the middle of a day’s work seeing as it is eleven o’clock.

“Hi,” you greet, goofy smile on your lips. “I’m really glad you came, I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know if I shou-“

“Angie,” she cuts you off, serious. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid this isn’t an entirely social visit.”

You realize when you look up at her in confusion, that you’ve always only met her with the counter between the two of you and it never really allowed you to measure your difference in height. Now you see that in her impressive high heels Peggy is a few inches taller than you, but you’re sure that if she were bare footed like you, you’d have quite a few inches over her. The way she’s towering over you now, stern voice and hard face, makes you feel incredibly vulnerable, so you stand up to your full height, back rigid and arms crossed in defiance of her staring down at you.

“And what does that mean?” you ask, more softly than you’d like. But it works to soften Peggy’s own rigid posture just a tiny bit.

“Something’s happened and I felt like you should hear about it from me because, surprisingly enough, the first thing I thought about when I was briefed on the subject was your reaction and I-“

“Peggy,” you cut her rambling off with a soft smile, touched that she cared about your feelings on whatever matter this is about.

“Right, of course,” she pulls at the bottom of her blazer to straighten it and resumes her stoic posture. “My two partners were contacted and they agreed to go over the evidence and talk to the suspects on the Trafficking of Underage Women case,” she recites it like a rehearsed speech, eyes looking at a spot just beside your face, but never meeting yours and you freeze on the spot. “As it is the agreement in our office, if two of us agree on reading over a case the third one will go along with it. So we’ll be heading to the police station, study the evidence, talk to the suspects and depending on what we find, we might be defending those men in the case’s trial.”  Your head starts spinning quickly and you have to grab the doorknob to keep yourself up.

“You are what?” you ask, hoping and praying that the words that will leave Peggy’s mouth the second time around are different ones.

“My partners were contacted,” Peggy starts again in that same monotone voice and something inside of you just snaps. Your fingers tighten on the doorknob and you’re sure your face looks terrifying if the step Peggy takes back is any indication.

“I heard your little speech the first time,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “I just can’t believe you’re gonna do this! What De Marco and those men did is all over the news, there was an arrest warrant for him and he ran away!” you half-shout, throwing your hands up in disbelief before pointing a finger towards Peggy. “Ain’t that enough for ya to know what kind of character he is?!”

“Please lower your finger,” Peggy says in an annoyingly superior voice. You quickly do as she asks, not wanting to offend her although your whole body is buzzing, wanting to lash out. “As you said, he did not stand trail and it’s his right to, as it is to have defense attorneys.”

“I know that, I’m not an idiot!” you growl, trying your hardest to keep your voice down. “I just can’t believe _you_ are gonna this. I don’t understand ho-w ya could!” Your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence and something flicks very quickly through Peggy’s eyes when they meet yours, but she’s quick to avert her gaze again.

“There are certain people you cannot simply say ‘no’ to without showing that you’re trying,” she remarks before finally looking you in the eyes. “This is not about hurting your feelings, Angie, I assure you. That’s not something I aim for. Our fight the other night didn’t change the fact I care about you a surprisingly lot after knowing you for less than a month. That’s why I’m here telling you this.”

“If you cared about me you wouldn’t be doing this at all,” you spit at her and she nods curtly, as if she was already expecting this reaction out of you. It only serves to make you more angry. “I never thought you were some puppet in the hands of powerful people. I thought you were in it to help _innocent_ , good people. Guess I was the one who was wrong after all.” A wounded expression settles over Peggy’s face and a second too late you realize hurting her has not made you feel any better.

“I’ve only come to let you know this was happening,” she says, voice choked up. “Good bye, Angie.” She turns on her heels and quickly descends the stairs. You watch her walk away before slamming your apartment door closed as hard as you can.

When you turn back around, you find Linda, Carol and Dottie watching you with concerned expressions. Taking a deep breath and a second to think it over, you come to a decision that will certainly change your whole life.

“Carol,” you call and she nods hesitantly as she tries to get a read of you. “Get your computer back into shape, I’m gonna need ya to do some serious diggin’.” Carol’s whole face lightens up and you answer her questioning gaze with a curt nod before turning towards Dottie. “Sure ya can get me the material for that body armor thing?”

“Hundred percent certain,” she answers with a sly smirk on her lips. A small grin tugs at your own lips as you nod at her. When you turn towards Linda, you find her with the most excited face you’ve ever seen and your grin turns into a full-blown smile.

“Guess ya got a _uniform_ to draw, Linda,” she shrieks loudly and jumps off the sofa-bed before running towards you and engulfing you in a hug. “No costume, alright? Simple clothes, all black and I’ll keep my own combat boots,” you tell her when she lets you go. She nods eagerly and pulls her phone from her pocket to write your requirements down. You realize Carol and Dottie are typing furiously on their own phones and it pulls a genuine laugh through your still constricted throat. When Linda clears her throat to catch your attention you continue, “The mask is on ya, but it needs to be something I can use under my helmet and…” She looks up with arched eyebrows at your pause and you grin brightly at her. “Put a utility belt with two gun holsters in your drawing, just to make it a hundred percent accurate.” Carol and Dottie laugh from their places and Linda bounces hysterically on her feet.

“We gonna turn ya into the best damn vigilante!” she exclaims happily as she throws herself on top of Dottie and Carol and they all pile up on top of each other like excited puppies.

Your mood immediately deflates after her sentence. You really weren’t planning on ever doing this again, but Peggy’s possible involvement in De Marco’s trial changes everything. It reminds you the justice system has a way of letting guilty people go very often.

“If those assholes somehow convince Peggy and her partners to defend ‘em and they end up gettin’ away with it, I want to have helped put as many other scumbags as I can to rot in prison,” you explain and the three of them quickly sober up. Serious, determined looks settle over their faces and you sigh in relief.

If you’re going to do this you don’t need overly-excited puppies with good skills. You’ll need people who understand the importance of what you’re setting out to do, people who understand the risks and are willing to back you up.

They all get back to their phones quickly, Carol explaining she’s rebooting the system of the computer that’s in her house from her phone as they speak and that she’ll work hard to have it ready to be used by tomorrow; Dottie saying she’s already gotten in contact with her suppliers and they’ll have the material and get the uniform done as soon as she sends them the design; and Linda talking about making the parts that cover essential organs extra-layered, as well as the kneecaps while giving you a pointed look.

As a small grin appears on your face, you’re certain you couldn’t have asked for a better team and that there are no other people in the world you’d ever be doing this with.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning you wake up way earlier than usual, having agreed to hit the shooting range with Dottie and then get some wrestling training with her after she stressed how important it is that you be in the best shape possible. Dressed in yoga pants, sneakers and a hoodie over a form-fitting tank top, you walk out of your room to find Ana and Linda making out against the apartment door. Ana has Linda pressed against the door and Linda has her hands buried in her mane of wild, curly hair.

“Couldn’t ya guys have finished that _in_ the bedroom?” you ask teasingly and Ana jumps away from Linda with rosy cheeks that you’re not sure are from being flustered because of their making out or embarrassed that you caught them.

“I didn’t… _we_ didn’t, I was jus-,” you chuckle as Ana stumbles through her words and she takes a deep breath and smiles sheepishly. “Hello, Ange, good morning. I was just coming by to drop you guys some breakfast,” she points to the two cups of coffee and the paper bag on the counter. “And we got a bit caught up, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, she’s just jealous ‘cause her mouth is growin’ webs and she’s not gonna get to smoochin’ Your Majesty, the Queen ‘cause she turned out to be a fake hoe,” Linda says while wrapping her arms around Ana’s neck and sticking her tongue out at you.

You give her a pointed look that she ignores before going to the counter and sipping on your cup of coffee as you rummage through the bag Ana brought. A loud knock sounds on the door and you can hear Linda laughing at something Ana said before she opens it. And then just silence.

“Babe, someone left a sneaky, untrustworthy, English snake on our front door, but I can get rid of it if you want me to?” Linda calls from the front door and your heart skips on your chest. It can’t be.

But there she is when you walk to the door, Peggy, standing outside in simple dark blue jeans and a red t-shirt, wringing her hands together nervously.

“Hi,” she greets, shyly. “I’m sorry to just come up, but the back door was open and I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me if I texted you.”

“Damn right she wouldn’t,” Linda mumbles bitingly and you shoot her a look.

“Alright,” Ana pipes in, grabbing Linda by her shoulders and nudging her forward. “Linda will show me downstairs and I’m sure I’ll be able to find something to keep her occupied for a while down there.” Ana shoots you a wink and you smile gratefully at her as she ushers Linda past Peggy, giving her a curt nod, and down the stairs.

The last thing you need is for Linda to be here insulting Peggy at every two minutes. You can’t imagine this conversation will go well as it is.

“What are ya doin’ here?” you ask her, crossing your arms over your chest to make sure Peggy can’t hear how loud your heart is beating just at the sight of her.

“We need to talk,” Peggy answers softly and you’re surprised by the lack of fight in her tone and posture. “May I come in?”

Before your mind can decide, your body is already moving aside and allowing Peggy into your apartment. With a deep breath you close the door and follow after her, just hoping this won’t turn into a fight worse than the one from yesterday. One that could take this ship that is now treading through dangerous waters and sink it for good.

 

 


End file.
